


Wild Magic

by Sestra_Prior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-02-12
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10176179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sestra_Prior/pseuds/Sestra_Prior
Summary: Sequel to The Running Man.  The Wizarding World is under threat again.  Can Lucius and Harry save the day?





	1. Hogwarts

Author's notes: Many thanks, as usual, go to my wonderful beta and friend, RaeWhit. Without her constant help and support, this story simply wouldn't have been written. Any remaining errors are mine - and mine alone!!

As this story follows on from The Running Man which was posted prior to the release of book seven, it is non- compliant with same.

 

All characters, excluding those created by myself, are the property of J K Rowling. I make no money from playing with them.

 

 

****

Hogwarts

The cold wind that gusted about the large room caused the candles to gutter and spit, sending trails of wax down their sides that formed knobbly white stalactites.

In the flickering light, two men circled each other warily, eyes firmly fixed on the other’s face, watching for any change of expression that might give some hint that another spell was about to be cast.

Despite the fact they had been duelling for the best part of half an hour, both combatants were swathed in thick clothing. The air in the great room was frigid and each man’s breath puffed white crystals into the gloom. Outside, against the night-darkened windows, snow squalled, driven by the blizzard wind that had been blowing for the best part of the day. 

Harry was beginning to wonder about the justification for cheating. The more he watched Lucius prowl around the duelling area, the more he wanted to hurry his lover upstairs to bed, and spend the rest of the evening having passionate sex. But the rules of their engagement specified no use of wand-less magic, and, as Lucius was adept at reading Harry’s wand movements and anticipating what spell the young wizard was about to cast, it did not look as if a speedy end to their encounter was likely.

Harry had long suspected that Lucius was a highly skilled Legilimens and he always took care to shield his mind at the beginning of their dulling practices in an attempt to deny any attempt by the other man to penetrate his thoughts. Unfortunately he was unable to shield the look in his eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Lucius smirked, his eyes fixed on Harry’s.

Harry grinned in return. “Really? And what might that be?”

“You’re thinking that you wish we could get this over with, and then we could go upstairs and I could strip the clothes from your body, taking care to kiss and caress every inch of your skin, paying special attention to that needy cock of yours. You’re thinking how very pleasant it would be for me to wrap my lips around the tip and suck you into my mo...”

Harry’s eyes had started to glaze over and, like a striking cobra, Lucius took full advantage of his momentary distraction to fire a full Body-Bind spell past the young wizard’s defences. Harry crashed to the floor, a gloating Lucius staring down at him. 

Harry glared up at the smirking blonde, and as soon as Lucius released him he said, “Not fair.”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow. “Not fair?” he queried. “And what, might I ask, is your basis for comparison?”

Harry scowled as he clambered up off the floor. “If I’m not allowed to use wand-less magic, then you’re not allowed to use dirty, underhand tactics.”

Lucius pasted on an expression of mock outrage. _“Dirty, underhand tactics?_ I don’t know what you mean. I was merely answering your question.”

“What question?”

“I distinctly remember you asking me to tell you what I thought you were thinking. I did so...was I right?”

Harry stepped into Lucius’ arms and tipped up his face for a kiss. “You know very well you were. And since you have now won, albeit by cheating, can we go upstairs and have sex?”

Lucius pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “Yes, you insatiable boy.”

“I can’t help it if you’re so good in bed I never want us to get out of it.”

Lucius shoved Harry away with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Come on then, we’ll have to be quick, I have one or two things I want to do later.”

Picking up their cloaks from where they had hung them, Harry and Lucius made their way from the duelling room. 

Harry glanced at Lucius worriedly. “You’ve not forgotten we’re going to Hogwarts tomorrow, have you?”

Lucius groaned. “Do we have to?”

“You promised!”

“Perhaps, but if my memory serves me correctly, you were being rather...shall we say persuasive at the time you asked me.”

Harry grinned. “And they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!”

“Ha! In your case it’s most certainly through the front of your trousers.”

“I hadn’t noticed _you_ complaining,” Harry countered.

They walked in silence for a moment or two. Then Lucius began again. “You know, it’ll be frightfully dull...and besides, Arthur Weasley will spend the entire time surreptitiously attempting to kill me whenever your back is turned. Not that I am at all concerned that he might succeed, but nevertheless it will be rather trying.”

Harry’s face fell.

§§§§§

For a man of his comparatively young age, Harry had more than his fair share of awful memories, but what happened in the back garden of Godric’s Hollow had to rank amongst the top few.

Having resolved his estrangement from Lucius, Harry was able to focus on other problems. He quickly broke off the deep kiss he was sharing with the older wizard.

“You must go,” he said urgently. “Ron will have alerted half the Wizarding world that you are here.”

“And?”

“Well, I think…” Harry began carefully. “It’s not that I don’t want everyone to know about us…only I think it would be better if I told them on my own.” He turned a half pleading, half apologetic look on Lucius.

It had taken some persuasion, but finally, with ill grace, Lucius had conceded to returning to Durmstrang to await his young lover. Harry had lowered the wards around the cottage to permit Lucius to Apparate and no sooner had Lucius gone, than half a dozen Aurors, backed up by several Order members, followed by the Minster for Magic himself, Remus Lupin, Bill Weasley, Ron Weasley and last, but certainly not least, Molly Weasley—resplendent in apron, fluffy slippers and curlers—all arrived in the garden.

Ron had been very busy in the few minutes it had been since Lucius had left him standing at the front door.

The Aurors, having ascertained that no actual crime was being committed, Disapparated. The Order members went back inside the house where, from the corner of his eye, Harry could see their faces pressed against the kitchen widow…leaving Harry to face his friends and the nearest thing he had to a family.

He would never forget the look of shock and horror on Arthur and Molly Weasley’s faces as the full extent of his relationship with Lucius became clear. Then the accusations started.

How Harry had played them for fools.

Lied.

Betrayed their trust.

Dishonoured the memory of his parents, who had died fighting scum like Lucius Malfoy.

Had Harry been enchanted? Molly’s face had brightened for a moment as she considered this possibility.

Harry assured her he had not been enchanted…unless it had been to fall under the spell of love. Looking back, he realised that this might not have been the most diplomatic thing to have said.

In the end they had departed, leaving Harry standing alone in the garden, shaken to his core by the depths of their revulsion at his and Lucius’ relationship.

Remus Lupin had been the last to leave. He had taken a step away from Harry and then paused and turned back.

“Harry, I…I know Lucius Malfoy is a very attractive man…”

“It wasn’t his looks that attracted me,” Harry began.

Lupin held up his hand, a pained expression on his face. He had taken the job of DADA instructor at Hogwarts and, as a consequence, he had regained some of the confidence he had lost.

“Lucius is an attractive man,” he continued. He stopped again, and wiped a hand over his face. “Merlin, there wasn’t a single student at Hogwarts that didn’t have a crush on him at some time or another whilst he was there, but, Harry, however good he might be to look at, he’s rotten to the core. He’s playing you for a fool.”

Harry’s face hardened. “You all think you know him…but you don’t, not the man he really is. I know you don’t want to hear this, but the Lucius _I know_ is good, kind, funny, sensitive…and he loves me.” Harry said this last with a little less confidence. Despite the fact that he had declared his love for Lucius, the older wizard had never admitted that he loved Harry.

Lupin picked up on his hesitation. “So, he has never told you so?” he asked, with uncanny perception. “How like him—always hedging his bets: typical Malfoy.”

Stung, Harry retorted, “He does love me…and he has no need to tell me in words, he tells me in his actions; the fact that he was prepared to stay here and face you all for my sake, because he didn’t want to leave me on my own.”

“He did though, didn’t he?”

“Only because I forced him to go,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

Lupin laughed nastily. “Oh, yes, I bet he made a great show of not wanting to desert you—but he still managed to leave before we arrived.”

“You know,” Harry said quietly, “with all the prejudice that _you_ have been subjected to throughout your life, I would have thought that you at least might have been prepared to give him a chance…to take the time to see the real Lucius, the man behind the mask he was forced to wear for so long.”

“Whatever mask Lucius Malfoy might ever have worn, Harry, wasn’t so very far from who he really is, and you would do well to remember that.” Lupin spun on his heel and set off out of the garden again; before he had gone three paces he once more turned around. This time his expression was sad. “I see you are set on this foolish course of action, Harry. Just remember, when he breaks your heart, that your friends will still be here for you.”

“What friends?” Harry asked bitterly. “Oh, you mean those _friends_ who have just accused me of being a liar and a cheat and dishonouring the memory of my parents?” he added sarcastically.

Lupin winced. “The Weasleys were angry, Harry…and you can hardly blame them. They have treated you as one of their own, and you used their care for you as a means to secure a pardon for your _lover_ ,” Lupin spat the word. “A man who was once Voldemort’s right hand man, a man who has committed murder and torture, a man who is dangerous and manipulative…a man who is also old enough to be your father…have you no shame?”

This time Lupin really did leave, and, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, Harry made his own way back into his cottage. 

It was silent as he packed up the few belongings he wished to take back to Durmstrang with him. Harry wasn’t even sure that Ron would return to stay at Godric’s Hollow—the look of disgust on his friend’s face had been eloquent—maybe he would simply stay at his parents’ house, too revolted by Harry’s actions to bear to dwell under a roof that Harry had slept under…and have to look out at the garden where, as he had disclosed to those gathered, he had seen Lucius try to suck Harry’s face off.

With one last glance around his room, Harry made his way downstairs to the Floo connection in the front room and Flooed to London. From there he had made his way back to Durmstrang…and the warm, comforting arms of his lover.

Lucius had demanded a full account of what had happened—and been furious at the way Harry had been treated by those who professed to love him. It had been all Harry could do to restrain the older wizard from rushing back to England to exact his revenge upon Arthur Weasley and company.

Over the following weeks, Harry had vacillated between feelings of misery and feelings of intense anger. In his more rational moments he could understand the reactions of his friends; had the positions been reversed he might very well have felt the same way. The difference was that he had been given a chance to get to know Lucius as Valentin. Had spent time with a man he would probably have tried to hex into oblivion at the first opportunity had he met him first as Lucius Malfoy.

On the other hand, it appalled him that his friends wouldn’t even take the time to try and understand his relationship with Lucius, unprepared, it seemed, to accept that the man they had trusted to deliver them from Voldemort could make an informed, rational decision about his own feelings.

Harry had not heard from any of his friends for the rest of the summer, just an owl bearing the key to Godric’s Hollow—from which he inferred that Ron had moved out.

§§§§§

Harry came back to the present to find that they had reached the door to his room. Lucius was looking at him oddly. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past few minutes, have you?”

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry…I was just…”

“You were thinking about _them_ , weren’t you?”

Harry nodded. Then he looked back up at Lucius. “But I’m not going to think of them anymore. They will just have to get used to me being with you…or not.”

Lucius slipped his hand along Harry’s jaw and into his hair. His fingers were gentle on Harry’s skin. “Harry, are you sure our relationship is really worth all this pain?”

They had had this conversation before.

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “I won’t let them dictate to me who I can or can’t have a relationship with…I’m not proud of the way I…well, the way I wasn’t quite _truthful_ with Arthur about the real reason I wanted the Death Eaters pardoned, but I’m not ashamed of my relationship with you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lucius said softly, drawing Harry into his arms, after a quick glance down the corridor to make sure they were unobserved.

Harry’s heart leapt. It was the first time Lucius had said those words to him, the first time he had admitted he loved Harry.

“I just hate to see you suffer so,” Lucius went on, holding Harry close to his chest so that Harry could hear the steady beat of Lucius’ heart. “These people were your friends, and more than that…your family.”

“They’ll come round,” Harry said, without much conviction in his voice.

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t…well, then they can’t have cared that much for me in the first place.”

§§§§§

Since the end of the war, it had become the custom that a feast was held at Hogwarts, three days after the students had departed for the Christmas holidays. It was something between a celebration of the end of the war, and a remembrance of those that had fallen. Those present included the Hogwarts professors, Order members, the Minister for Magic and several of his staff, Aurors, and those who had played a prominent role in the effort to defeat Voldemort.

It was usually a jolly affair—although tears were also shed for those who had been lost—and a huge feast was provided by the Hogwarts house-elves. It had also become a tradition that each person would bring a gift for one of the other guests present. 

Three weeks before the feast, a small card would arrive at the home of an attendee, bearing a name. It was then up to the buyer of the gift to secretly find out—if he didn’t already know—the likes and dislikes of the person he was buying a gift for, and then purchase something suitable. The receiver of the gift would never know the identity of the gift-giver. It was the cause of much merriment when the presents were opened after the feast.

Neither Harry nor Lucius had known the people they were to get gifts for, but after a bit of research they managed to come up with a bottle of perfume called Nuit de Passion for Madame Amelia Finch and a book on rare British butterflies for Archibald Todd (whose interest in butterflies Harry privately hoped was merely academic and not the sort of interest that led to the butterflies becoming even more rare).

Despite Lucius’ name being on the list of those due to attend the occasion, secreted in his pocket Harry had a small gift bearing Lucius name: he didn’t quite trust that the person who had received Lucius’ name had actually bought a gift for him, and he refused to see his lover humiliated—especially as he had begged Lucius to attend against the older wizard’s better judgement.

§§§§§

It was strange to be back at Hogwarts—walking up the path towards the looming castle from where he and Lucius had Apparated into Hogsmeade; for a moment Harry felt seventeen again.

There was a crisp layer of snow on the ground, but overhead was a clear blue sky in which the setting sun shone brightly, causing the snow to wink and glitter. As they drew closer to the gate, Harry’s footsteps slowed.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Lucius said softly from by his side. “Or you could go on alone…I could wait for you in Hogsmeade.”

“No,” Harry said firmly, squaring his shoulders. “Unless…unless you don’t want to come with me?” He turned a worried eye on his lover.

“I said I will be here for you, Harry, and I will. Come, I’m sure it won’t be that bad; they’ve had time to get used to the idea of us being together now.”

“Thank you, Lucius. I just hope you’re right.”

Lucius drew Harry’s arm though his, and side by side they made their way through the tall wrought-iron gates and up the track to the front door of Hogwarts. 

There was a small knot of people clustered around the entrance. As they drew closer, they could see that Arthur and Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin were among them. Arthur broke away from the group and came down the steps to meet Harry and Lucius.

“Hello Ar…” Lucius began.

“You’re not welcome here,” Arthur hissed. “Get out.”

“I am not yet _in_ ,” Lucius pointed out mildly. 

Arthur’s face turned an ugly shade of puce. “Just go, you Death Eater scum.” He turned on Harry. “And you…how dare you bring that bastard here?”

“I brought him because he was invited…because he is my partner and the man I love.” Harry’s voice was clear and cold. “I had hoped, Mr Weasley, that you might by now have come to realise that whatever you have to say on the subject is not going to change my mind about being with Lucius. Isn’t it time you accepted that he and I are together?” he added, a pleading note entering his voice.

“Never!” Arthur said harshly. “I will never accept the idea of you having any sort of a _relationship_ with…with _that_.” He spat the last word in Lucius’ direction.

Beneath his fingers, Harry felt Lucius’ arm stiffen. Before his lover could say anything that might further inflame the situation, Harry quickly said, “Then I see there is nothing more to say.” And he set off up the steps to the door, pulling Lucius with him. The crowd around the door parted silently to let them through, and then Harry and Lucius were walking across the entrance hall towards the dining room.

The great room was full of people—who all seemed to be talking at the tops of their voices—but as Harry and Lucius entered, the knots of chatting people gradually fell silent, until there was barely a noise in the huge room. A few of those present began to clap, the usual way Harry’s arrival had been greeted in the past, but this year Harry’s arrival was _not_ usual. This year he was arm in arm with Lucius Malfoy.

The clapping trailed off into an embarrassed silence…and then Headmistress McGonagall stepped out of the crowd and hurried towards them.

“Harry, Lucius, what a pleasure to see you both.” She embraced Harry quickly and then offered her hand to Lucius. He shook it, saying as he did so, “Headmistress, it is a pleasure to be here. You’re looking very well.”

It was as if McGonagall’s greeting had reassured everyone; they began to return to their conversations, and Harry no longer felt as if all eyes were upon them. Before long they were drawn into the room and greeted by other guests—there were even those who chose to be civil to Lucius, although in many cases Harry knew they were only doing it as a favour to him.

For the feast the dining hall had been cleared of the long house tables, and instead large round tables that could seat ten people were scattered around the room. Harry found that he and Lucius were seated next to an elderly witch who had known Lucius as a child—and was thus able to keep those around them entertained with stories of his juvenile exploits—and McGonagall herself. Each course seemed to be more sumptuous than the last, and Harry had to surreptitiously unbutton his trousers—much to Lucius’ amusement—before they reached the cheese and biscuits and port. 

After the feast came the speeches and Harry allowed his attention to wander as he relaxed back in his chair. To his left he could see the Weasleys seated with Remus Lupin and a couple of other people whom Harry didn’t recognise. He didn’t let his eyes linger there long, as Arthur and Molly were both shooting dark looks at he and Lucius and it saddened him to think that only last year he had been seated with them.

After the speeches was the gift giving. Making sure that Lucius was engaged in conversation with someone further around the table, Harry quickly tugged McGonagall’s sleeve as she stood up to attend to her job as distributor of gifts, revealing the small box bearing Lucius’ name in the palm of his hand. She simply smiled, shook her head and tapped herself once on the chest. So, it seemed, to avoid the possible embarrassment that Harry had anticipated, she had given herself Lucius’ name. Harry smiled in gratitude and relaxed again.

Soon house-elves were hurrying between the tables, dropping gifts before the guests. Harry received a large flat object and glanced across at Lucius as he began to tear off the paper. Lucius himself, much to his obvious surprise, had just received his own gift and, with an indulgent smile and a glance at Harry, began to unwrap it. It was obvious from his expression that Lucius assumed that the gift-giver was Harry.

Harry was busy with his own gift…which turned out to be a rare commemorative edition book celebrating 500 years of the Cheshire Cats Quidditch team. He began leafing through with interest.

“I bet you didn’t know you had a Scottish ancestor, did you, Lucius,” McGonagall asked as she slid back into her seat, distribution duties over with.

“My great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, I believe,” Lucius answered with a slightly smug smile. His parcel had contained a lovely, soft scarf done in shades of blue and grey tartan.

The Headmistress looked rather as if she had had the wind taken out of her sails.

“Am I to assume this beautiful gift is from you then, Minerva?”

McGonagall nodded. “Aye, it is. Not that I should be telling you,” she added severely. “It is your great-great grandfather’s family tartan; I thought the colours were rather complimentary, considering your colouring.”

Lucius draped the scarf around his neck, despite the heat in the great room. Minerva had been right: the greys and blues did indeed compliment Lucius’ winter looks.

Around them people were starting to taking their leave, but just as Harry was going to mention to Lucius that they could now go, his attention was caught by the Headmistress

“Och, will ye look at that!” McGonagall’s accent had become increasingly broad as the evening—and the quantity of alcohol she had consumed—progressed. She held in her hand a small oval plate with an indentation at one end to hold an egg cup on which was sitting an egg cosy; all were done out in green tartan. A silver spoon with a tartan handle completed the ensemble. “Ach, it’s lovely…and ma clan tartan too. Aren’t people kind,” she went on, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “And I do like ma egg of the morning.”

Harry regarded the breakfast set solemnly. “It’s very…erm, nice,” he said insincerely, thinking that he himself would run a mile if breakfast promised something like that to look forward to. “Well,” he added, “we must be going. Long way home for us.”

Minerva turned a watery eye on him. “It was good of ye to come, Harry. A canna agree with yeh choice of partner…but he’s your choice and that’s what matters.” She paused and then added, “If ye truly love one another then ye’ll stand what others have to say.” A blush stained the Headmistress’ cheeks. “Ah, forgive me, I shouldna have said anything.”

“No, not at all. I appreciate your words, and your support.” Harry said with feeling. He turned in his chair to Lucius—only to find the older wizard was nowhere to be seen. Harry scanned the huge room with a worried frown, but he couldn’t spot the telltale gleam of Lucius’ blond hair anywhere. There were only two other people left sitting at their table, but they were deeply engrossed in a discussion and oblivious of their surroundings. 

After bidding farewell to McGonagall and collecting up his gift, Harry rose to his feet and set off to seek out his lover, a cold feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. Lucius might be a powerful wizard, but he was no match for the combined forces of the Weasleys and Lupin.

Having made as sure as he could that Lucius was not in the dining hall, Harry, after extricating himself from several people determined to chat with him, made his way into the entrance hall. The boys and girls bathrooms just off to the right hand side were being used by the guests tonight, and Harry slipped into the men’s room to check if Lucius had simply had gone to answer a call of nature.

He hadn’t, but Ron Weasley was leaning against one of the wash-basins, talking to a tall black-haired man who looked as if he perhaps played beater on one of the Quidditch teams.

“Hello, Ron,” Harry said tentatively.

Ron gave him an evil look and then, without speaking, turned his back and left the room. The other man shrugged apologetically, and with a rueful grimace followed Ron.

Harry took a deep breath. Ron’s rejection of him hurt more than he could have imagined. They had been through so much together, had stood by each other through all the dreadful times during the war. And for his friend to now turn his back on Harry cut the young wizard to the quick.

He went back into the entrance hall and gazed about him. Where could Lucius have gone? He was just about to conclude that Arthur Weasley must have had something to do with his lover’s disappearance, when he heard Arthur’s voice. The Minister for Magic was coming down the stairs with Molly and Remus Lupin.

Harry stepped out of the shadows just as they were about to pass him.

“Arthur, Molly, Remus,” he greeted them in turn.

Mr and Mrs Weasley stood silently, their faces heavy with disapproval. Then Molly said, “Harry. How, how are you?” As she spoke the disapproval melted from her face and was replaced by worry. “Oh, Harry, we’ve missed you. Come home to us, come away from that school, and…and _him_.”

Harry looked rueful. “I’ve missed you all too. But I can’t leave my job. I love teaching. And I can’t leave Lucius…I love him too.”

A sob caught in Molly’s throat. “Oh, Harry, how can you love such a man? He’s bad, wicked…please, see sense.”

Now Remus added his voice to the plea. “Yes, Harry, come home. You know this relationship is wrong. There are so many others more deserving of your love.”

“There may be,” Harry said determinedly, “But Lucius is the one I’ve fallen in love with. Please,” he begged, “Can’t you see…I truly do love him, and he loves me. I’m not saying our relationship is easy, we argue the same as everyone else, but he is the only one I want to be with. Please, can’t you just accept that?”

Now Arthur spoke up, “Surely _you_ can see that we can’t, Harry.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry this has come between us…and I blame him more than I blame you. He should have never seduced someone as young and…and as _innocent_ as you.”

The circumstances surrounding how he and Lucius had actually come together had never come up during the row in the garden at Godric’s Hollow. Now Harry swallowed hard…and revealed, much to his shame, how exactly the relationship had come about. The expressions on the three faces that regarded him when he had finished the sordid tale ranged from anger to utter disbelief. 

Molly spoke first, shaking her head as she did so, “Harry, no…surely you didn’t do that. Tell me you didn’t,” she went on urgently.

Harry nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Oh, Arthur,” Molly gasped, dragging a handkerchief from her sleeve and mopping her eyes with it.

Now Remus spoke, and his voice held wonder. “The Lucius Malfoy I knew would have killed Harry, rather than go through that. Maybe,” doubt began to creep into his voice, “maybe he _has_ changed.”

But Arthur shook his head. “More likely he is waiting for a suitable time to exact his revenge. What better than to encourage Harry to fall deeply in love with him, to pretend to return that regard, and then break Harry’s heart.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to shake his head. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t…he, I can’t explain how I know…it’s just something,” Harry paused, what he was about to say was deeply personal and it took courage to say it in front of these three people who meant so much to him, knowing that if he did so they would be shocked. “It’s in the way he touches me…the way he makes love to me. He can burn me like fire,” Harry caught his breath at the memories the words conjured up and for a second his eyes slid out of focus. “Or he can be so gentle, so caring. And he always seems to know what I want, what I need.”

He looked up to see Molly swap a look with Arthur, then she turned to him. “I won’t say we will ever come to like this relationship…but, but for now, we’ll see how it goes. If he can truly prove he loves you…and if you are still together this time next year…then we’ll see.”

Arthur nodded his agreement, and now only Remus seemed to be resisting. He shook his head. “A skilled lover could do those things, Harry, and there is no doubt that Lucius is skilled. He had enough damn practice,” he added under his breath. “But,” he went on, holding up his hand to forestall Harry’s protests, “but I too will reserve my judgement. However, if he hurts you,” a feral glow flared briefly in Remus’ brown eyes, “if he hurts you, I swear he will pay, Harry.”

And with that Harry had to be satisfied. And indeed it was more than he had hoped for. Molly and Arthur took their leave, bidding him a Merry Christmas, and Remus went back to the festivities, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

He began to search for Lucius, his feet following familiar corridors whilst his mind was otherwise occupied, and it was with some surprise that he found himself standing before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. It would always be Dumbledore’s office. On the one hand, it had been decided to leave the room as a sort of shrine to the revered headmaster; on the other, no-one had been able to get past the stone sentinel.

Really, Harry thought wryly, he shouldn’t be surprised that his feet had led him here. Here was where he always used to come when he was troubled. The problem was that now there was no Dumbledore here to guide him and reassure him. With a sigh, Harry slid down the wall into a sitting position, his forehead on his drawn-up knees, and his arms wrapped tightly around them.

It was silent in the corridor, the noise of the revelry below left far behind. Moonlight burned silver on the carpet at his feet and for a while Harry watched its progress, marked by the movement of shadows, until a faint sound came to his ears. From somewhere close by came the sound of grating stone; a hole opened up in the wall a little way along the passage, and a man stepped cautiously out into the moonlight. It was Lucius.

Harry sprang to his feet. “Lucius,” he called, hurrying towards the blond. 

Lucius held an urgent finger to his lips. “Ssh”, he whispered. Then he seized Harry by the arm and began pulling him back towards the main hall.

“What is it?” Harry asked, confused. “And where have you been? I didn’t know about that secret passage,” he added, a touch of pique entering his voice as he realised that he hadn’t known all of the school’s secrets after all.

Lucius didn’t answer him; instead he simply continued to pull Harry along. Harry dug in his toes and forced Lucius to halt. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded. “Is it Arthur Weasley…only I saw him earlier and....”

“The book’s gone,” Lucius hissed.

Harry looked confused. “What book? What are you going on about?”

“Do you remember me telling you that there were three books written that contained the knowledge of the Old Magic?” Lucius asked in a hushed voice.

Harry nodded. “Yes, you said Dumbledore had one and Voldemort had one…and you have the other.”

“Dumbledore’s has gone.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked, a frown forming.

“It is not where it was usually kept. There is a space…and no dust, so it was taken only recently.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Where was it?”

“Dumbledore’s study.”

“How did you get in…and why were you there in the first place?” Harry asked, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice. He did remember Lucius telling him about the books. He also remembered Lucius telling him of the power they contained. “You were looking for it, weren’t you?” he accused.

Lucius stared at him, all silver in the moonlight. “And what if I were?” he asked quietly.

“Why, Lucius, _why_ were you looking for it?”

Lucius sighed. “I knew it was here and…I was _interested_.”

“You wanted it,” Harry said bluntly.

Lucius was silent for a moment. “Yes, yes I wanted it. And so, it appears, did someone else. Look, Harry, if you need to discuss this, we can do so...later, but right now we need to leave…and then we need to go after Voldemort’s book.”

“Why?” Harry asked, his arms folded across his chest and a mulish expression on his face.

“Because, you fool, one book is powerful, two are very powerful, and believe me, there are far worse people than me who could be looking for the third book. 

Harry frowned again. “So,” he said slowly, “you think someone might be trying to get hold of the books for the power they contain? But I thought you said that Wild Magic can’t be ordered about like that? That it does what it wants?”

“There are ways to more forcefully _persuade_ it to do your bidding…and there is knowledge in the books to help one achieve them.”

“Is that why you wanted it,” Harry asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “For the power?” He gazed intently into Lucius’ eyes, daring him to lie.

“You can believe me or not as you like, Harry, but no, not because of the power. Because of my interest.” He returned Harry’s gaze steadily, and finally Harry let out a deep breath.

“Well then, we’d best get home and then try to figure out where Voldemort might have hidden his book. Bloody hell,” Harry added with feeling. “I thought I’d finishing searching for things Voldemort had hidden.”

“There is no need to search for this thing…I know where it is,” Lucius said. “And there is no point in going back to Durmstrang only to have to return to England again—the sooner we get hold of that book, the better.”

“Are you sure Voldemort won’t have got rid of it?” Harry asked.

Lucius shook his head. “No, he was a hoarder. Nothing was ever disposed of that he thought might come in handy at some time or other. I have every reason to suppose the book may well be right where he always kept it.”

“And where was that?”

But Lucius glanced about them, as if afraid he would be overheard, shook his head and refused to say.

§§§§§

Once outside the wards of the school, Harry turned to Lucius. “Okay, _now_ can you tell me exactly where we’re going?”

Lucius regarded him steadily. “Actually, Harry, I think it would be safer if I went on my own.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m coming with you.”

Lucius looked exasperated. “Really, there is little sense in us both taking this risk.”

“I’m coming,” Harry said stubbornly. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was having fresh doubts about just what was really motivating Lucius in his search for the other book; his friends might think he had been blinded to Lucius’ true nature, but Harry was well aware of the dark side to Lucius’ character and, if he could possibly prevent it happening, he was intent on keeping the older wizard away from anything that might tempt him to revert to his old self. And besides, if Lucius was headed into danger, he wanted to be by the man’s side in case he was needed.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Harry, then nodded shortly. “If you insist. But listen to me carefully, Harry. Where we are going we must use as little magic as possible. There are all sorts of traps and alarms around the place. Any spells might set them off...and we really do not want anyone alerted to our presence there. Now come along.” Without allowing Harry time to question their destination, Lucius pulled the young wizard into his arms and Apparated.


	2. Hogwarts

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

**The Riddle House**

They Apparated into what appeared, in the light of the full moon, to be an orchard; bent and gnarled trees twisted grotesquely, and Harry shivered as he took in his surroundings.

“Nice,” he said sarcastically, pulling his cloak tighter around him as a vicious wind whipped through the stand of trees.

Lucius set off through the long, rank grass and Harry trailed reluctantly in his wake. They came to a narrow gap in a high hedge and Lucius pushed his way through, holding the whippy braches back to stop them from rebounding into Harry’s face. Harry shouldered his way after the blond, grimacing as sharp thorns scratched at his face and hands and caught at his cloak. He was brought up short at the sight that met his eyes once he made it though the shrubbery.

“The Riddle house,” Lucius said succinctly.

Sometime in the last few years the house had been the victim of a huge fire. The roof was nothing more than a few blackened, charred beams clinging precariously to the tops of high walls where holes like lidless eyes were all that remained of the windows. The rest of the roof appeared to have collapsed into the interior of the house; at least, the building seemed to be filled with a high pile of rubble.

Harry glanced around him. “So this is where Voldemort lived, then?”

“No—this is the ancestral home; V...Voldemort only came here latterly, he used it as a base during the last years of the war. Bugger,” Lucius added with feeling.

Harry glanced up at him. “What? 

“The place we need to get to is in the cellar.”

Harry looked back at the ruins. “Oh, I guess that’s going to be pretty tricky now?”

“Impossible—through the house. We’ll have to use the ‘back door’.”

“Back door?” Harry asked tremulously. Something in Lucius’ tone had alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t going to like this ‘back door’ one little bit.

“Come on, the quicker we find that book, the quicker we can get out of here. And remember, no magic unless absolutely necessary.” It was obvious that Lucius liked the place no better than Harry did.

The older wizard led the way around one side of the derelict building, along a flagstone path that was slippery with moss and fallen leaves. Harry gripped his wand tightly, his eyes constantly searching the moonlit surroundings for any sign of unwelcome company. 

A loud screech from some nearby woodland caused him to jump violently, bumping into Lucius and nearly knocking him down.

“It’s only an owl, Harry. For goodness sake, get a grip.” Lucius said sharply, disentangling himself from Harry’s clutches.

Harry grinned, his teeth shining in the moonlight. “Can I grip you?” He heard Lucius sigh, then a chuckle escaped his companion, and a hand reached out and ruffled his hair. 

“Do your thoughts always dwell in the region of your groin?”

“Pretty much,” Harry replied.

“Well, do try to contain yourself until we’re out of this.” 

Lucius turned, and continued around the corner of the house. Harry followed him, and saw by the light of the moon that they had entered a cobbled yard. One side was bordered by the back of the house. Along another side of the yard ran a low structure that Harry assumed was a barn for animals, and a third side was home to a range of small buildings. 

It was to one of these latter that Lucius led the way. The fire had not reached these outbuildings but nevertheless time had worn away at their fabric until holes gaped in their roofs, and bricks crumbled and shaled red powdery piles onto the cobbles at their feet. More moss had crept into the gaps where mortar had fallen away.

Lucius pushed and rattled at a black painted wooden door, swearing under his breath as the warped door refused to give way. Finally, with a huge heave of his shoulder, he succeeded in shoving it several inches into the room beyond. The wood screeched over a hard surface, creating a trail in the grime that covered the floor.

Together now, they managed to force the door open enough to squeeze through and get into the room.

Harry sneezed as the dust of years crept insidiously into his nose. With watering eyes he glanced around, but could discern nothing in the near pitch darkness except a sour smell that seemed almost palpable.

“Where are we?” Harry asked quietly.

“The old dairy,” Lucius answered, his voice as hushed as Harry’s. “Stand ready, we must risk a little magic here to see our way.”

Harry reversed until his back hit the wall behind the door, then he had to scrunch up his eyes as a sudden flare from the tip of Lucius’ wand drove back the night and seared his eyeballs. The light was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, leaving only an after-image burned into the back of Harry’s eyelids. He heard Lucius quietly say, “Ah-ha.” Then his hand was taken, and Lucius’ breath was tickling his ear.

“We have to try to get into the cellars through the old well, Harry. It is not going to be easy, but neither should it prove impossible…there is a metal ladder that runs down the inside.”

Harry thought about the decay he had seen all around him since they had arrived here, and wondered just how safe an old metal ladder was going to be. A plunge into the depths of a cold, dark, wet well was not high on his list of ‘things he might enjoy’.

“Erm…” he began.

Lucius forestalled his objections. “It is the only way in, Harry. We have no choice.”

“But what about the water?”

“What about it?” Lucius asked and Harry could tell his lover was giving him a curious look.

“Well, how do we get though it?”

“Get through it?”

“Yes…to the cellar.”

“Don’t be foolish, we don’t have to go _through_ it; there is a hidden entrance about twenty feet down in the wall of the well. I believe the water should be at least ten feet below that. Now pay attention,” Lucius went on, “the well cover is in the far corner of the room, let me remove it and then, when I say, come towards the sound of my voice _very_ slowly. I will start going down the ladder and will then guide you onto it. All right?”

Harry nodded slowly, then, realising that Lucius couldn’t see him, voiced his agreement. He heard Lucius move away from him in the darkness, then the sound of rusted metal being forced. There was a sudden clang—and a brief but effective bit of swearing—then Harry heard Lucius summon him.

As he moved, Harry suddenly felt the flat bulk of his Christmas present and, taking it from his pocket, he carefully leant it up against the wall behind him, then, inching his feet across the floor, conscious that somewhere ahead of him was a deep, gaping hole, Harry moved towards the place where he had heard Lucius’ voice. He gave a high pitched squeak when a hand suddenly gripped his ankle. From somewhere at his feet, Lucius sniggered.

“I’m _so_ pleased _you_ are still able to laugh,” Harry said, as he sank carefully to his knees. Feeling with his hands, he found a sheet of rusting metal that crumbled and flaked beneath his fingers, sending fresh concerns over the soundness of the ladder scudding through Harry’s mind. Next, his questing fingers found the edge of a hole, and then Lucius was guiding his hands to the first rungs of the ladder.

As soon as he was sure Harry had located the top of the ladder with both hands, Lucius began to descend into the depths of the well; Harry could hear his feet clanking on the metal, sending eerie echoes reverberating down into the blackness that yawned beneath them.

Very slowly he eased his way onto the rungs, Lucius guiding his feet from below. Then they were both on the ladder. A sudden shift in the metal caused Harry to tighten his grip.

“Are you sure it will hold both our weights together?” he queried, hearing the shake in his voice thrown back by the well as if it were mocking him.

“Well, we are about to find out,” Lucius said dryly from beneath him.

The ladder began to shift again as Lucius once more started to descend. Harry followed him, trying to time his steps to those of the man below him. The further they descended, the colder and ranker the air became, until it was all Harry could do to stop his teeth from chattering. His hands had become numb on the freezing metal, and he tried desperately not to think about what would happen if he let go by accident.

There was an abrupt splash from below him. 

“Fuck.” Lucius’ voice echoed up the shaft.

“What is it?” 

Lucius didn’t reply; instead Harry was answered with further splashing noises.

“Lucius?” Harry called, trying in vain to see his lover in the pitch black.

“The bloody water has risen,” Lucius finally said, just as Harry had made up his mind to descend further and ignore the risk of treading on Lucius’ head.

“What? Risen? But how?” Harry burbled.

“Presumably a large amount of rain has fallen recently—or perhaps drains or sluices have become blocked over the years—who knows?”

“But when was this entrance last used?”

“Never in my time; it was only by accident that I discovered its existence at all,” Lucius answered, the strain obvious in his voice.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. “Then we can go back. If we can’t go any further, then surely no-one else will be able to.”

“No going back, Harry. The water might have risen, but the top of the passageway is still above the water. Should anyone come looking, they will find the way in.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to curse. Swimming was not his forte, especially when he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

“I’m going into the entrance now...give me a few minutes to check everything out. I’ll come back for you if the way ahead is clear. All right, Harry?”

Harry smiled at the sound of concern in Lucius’ voice and he mentally squared his shoulders. “Yeah, fine. I’ll just wait here. Take care, Lucius, okay?”

A hand briefly caressed Harry’s ankle and then there was a splash as Lucius slid from the ladder into the water; the noises grew fainter as Lucius entered the tunnel that led to the cellars.

Harry waited in the freezing darkness, trying to steady the beating of his heart. All around him the black was absolute, not a hint of light anywhere, and it was all he could do to resist the urge to reach for his wand where he had carefully tucked it in his cloak pocket and cast a “ _Lumos_ ”. Plinks of water broke the silence as moisture dripped from further up the walls of the well and dropped into the water beneath Harry’s feet.

Gradually the sound of splashing grew closer again, and then Lucius’ voice rose up to him, panting a little from exertion.

“It’s clear. The tunnel slopes up after a while and we can wade. Come on.”

A hand tugged at Harry’s foot and, gritting his teeth, Harry descended the last few rungs of the ladder until he splashed into frigid water. Taking a deep breath he went down a few more steps until the water began to lap at his crotch, then, with a sudden plunge, he slipped off the steps.

Harry took a huge gasp of air as the shock of the cold hit his body—and inadvertently swallowed a great gulp of water. He felt himself sinking into the icy depths and began to struggle, until a hand grasped the back of his collar and hauled him to the surface.

“You _can_ swim, can’t you?” Lucius asked worriedly.

Harry coughed and managed to splutter, “A bit...badly, without gillyweed.”

Lucius’ “tut” echoed around the inside of the well until it sounded as if there were several Luciuses, all bemoaning Harry’s lack of swimming ability.

“I’ll manage. Just...let’s get going,” Harry said stubbornly.

“If you’re sure? Follow me.”

Lucius half towed Harry into a gap in the wall of the well, and Harry nearly panicked when the roof of the tunnel scraped against the top of his head, but he tried to focus on using the rudimentary swimming skills he possessed to keep himself afloat; after a few strokes he could tell that the space above him had opened out. Lucius was still half pulling him through the water and Harry was grateful for the comforting feel of his lover’s presence.

Before too long Harry’s wildly kicking legs struck the ground beneath him, and then he and Lucius were wading through water that got steadily shallower until they were both on dry land.

There was a brief flare in the darkness as Lucius lit his wand again. Before Harry could see more than a long, dark tunnel and stone walls, Lucius had extinguished the light. What his eyes had failed to notice was a lantern hung on a peg in the wall and he was startled when, after another brief magical flare, a steady glow pushed back the darkness.

Harry began to laugh. 

Lucius stared at him, frowning, holding the lantern high in the air. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

Harry pointed at the blond, still sniggering. “You—you have a big piece of green weed in you hair.” He reached out to Lucius and removed the offending weed, flinging it back into the water behind them.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Harry, then turned abruptly and began to stride down the dank tunnel. Harry pattered after him, grimacing as his sodden clothes slapped wetly at his skin, and rivulets of water ran down the back of his neck from his drenched hair, forming icy trails down his already frozen body.

They came to a heavy, iron-studded door. Lucius reached for the great ring handle and rattled it experimentally. To both their surprise, the door swung open, and carefully they stepped through into a considerably more hospitable tunnel. This one was perfectly dry; the walls were dressed with white plaster, and torches—dry and dusty with age, and festooned with cobwebs—were hung on brackets on the wall at regular intervals. Obviously the rubble from the fallen roof above had not caused the cellars to collapse, and their way forward was clear. 

Almost on tiptoe, Harry and Lucius entered the cellars beneath the house. Here and there doors were set into the walls, but Lucius passed them by without a glance. Then to their left a staircase could be seen descending from above; they had reached the bottom of the steps leading down from the ground floor. Two doors beyond the steps, Lucius came to a halt before a door fastened with a heavy padlock.

“A bit Muggle, isn’t it?” Harry said critically, regarding the lump of metal. “I’d have thought that a few spells would be more up Voldemort’s street.”

Lucius turned to him. “Oh, there are spells all right...just remember, once we are inside, don’t touch _anything_. Do you understand?”

“I’m not entirely stupid, you know,” Harry replied, somewhat stung by Lucius’ obvious assumption that he was just going to go blundering in. “Besides, we haven’t _got_ in yet.”

Lucius smiled, “Leave that to me.” He passed the lantern to Harry, and then turned back to the door and withdrew his wand from his pocket.

“If we can use magic now, how about a drying spell?” Harry asked, shivering

“I’m trying to use as little magic as possible, as you already know,” Lucius said shortly, then he sighed, and with a quick flourish and a few muttered words—first at Harry and then at himself—he cast a spell that had Harry warm and dry in an instant. 

The young wizard grinned. “That’s better. Thanks.”

Without a word Lucius turned his attention back to the door. Harry stood in silence and watched the older man as he performed a sequence of complicated wand movements, accompanied by several muttered spells. Then there was an audible “click,” the padlock vanished, and the door swung open.

They both stood and peered into the room beyond. It was obviously far larger than Harry had thought it would be, as the light from the lantern faded to a dim glow before it hit the far wall. From their feet, a deep purple carpet stretched away into the gloom; the patterns on it seemed to be writhing somehow, and Harry had to force himself to look away from it as a wave of sickness washed over him.

Lucius stepped into the room, and Harry followed him, holding the lantern up high in order to cast as wide a field of light as possible.

From what he could see, the room had been decorated as a kind of sitting room come study. There was a large desk—its surface bare of anything except a long, black-feathered quill—behind which stood a high-back leather chair. Two leather armchairs and a leather sofa were grouped together around a low table, and around the walls stood bookshelves, stuffed tightly with books of all shapes and sizes.

Harry whistled quietly. “Crikey, we’re going to have fun finding the book among all those, unless you know where it is?” He turned to Lucius hopefully, but the older wizard’s expression gave him his answer before Lucius had time to shake his head.

Harry’s face fell. “Well, what does it look like then? You do _know_ what it looks like, don’t you?” he demanded.

Lucius shook his head again. “No, but somehow I doubt it’s going to be on the shelves with the other books. More likely it will be in some hidden safe. But leave it to me, don’t go touching anything,” Lucius repeated. “You might as well get comfortable; this could take me a while.” Lucius gestured toward the leather suite.

Harry frowned. “There was little point in you bringing me if you’re not going to let me help look.”

“As I recall,” Lucius said sternly, “you _insisted_ on coming along—much against my better judgement. No doubt,” he added harshly, “to make sure I didn’t abscond with the damn thing.”

“That wasn’t it at all,” Harry responded hotly, glad that the dim light covered the blush that stained his cheeks. “Funnily enough, I was actually concerned about your safety.”

Lucius turned a pair of steel-grey eyes on Harry. “Really?” he asked quietly, keenly searching Harry’s face for the answer to his question.

Harry held Lucius’ gaze, his own green eyes every bit as intent. “Why do you find it so hard to believe that I care about you? That I love you?” he demanded.

Lucius gaze softened and he took two steps back to Harry’s side. His hand came up to cup Harry’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

Harry shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Lucius gave Harry a tight, rueful smile and then turned away to continue with his search. Inwardly Harry gave a small sigh of relief. He had struggled hard to secrete the doubts he had in his mind about Lucius’ motives, when Lucius had briefly probed his thoughts moments ago. Luckily it appeared that the older wizard had been too intent on beginning his search for Voldemort’s book than to do more than sweep a cursory glance over Harry’s mind. With a sigh, Harry went and sat down on one of the leather armchairs.

An hour later Lucius had still not located any sign of the book, and Harry was beginning to fidget; he had always found inactivity somehow exhausting. Added to his restlessness was the slowly growing awareness of the weight of stone and rubble that must be above his head. What would happen if the roof above them collapsed? They would be entombed down here, or even crushed to death.

Harry searched for something to take his mind off his morbid thoughts. To one side of the chair was a low wooden table. There were several books piled on it and when he had first seated himself, Harry had craned his neck to scan the titles of them in the hope that maybe Voldemort had been reading the very book they were seeking and had left it conveniently on the table. 

They _were_ magical books, but none of them was the book they were looking for and Harry had slumped back in the seat in defeat. He had then shut his eyes for a while, aware of the soft sounds of Lucius moving around the room. Now he turned his eyes back to the table and desultorily read through the titles again. Then his eyes fell on another object that he hadn’t noticed before, tucked, as it was, partially behind the stack of books.

It was a television remote control.

It was such an incongruous item to find, that Harry, forgetting Lucius’ words, reached out and picked it up.

There was a shocking roar of noise, the door to the room slammed shut, and they were plunged into complete and utter blackness.

There was a moment’s silence. Despite the darkness, Harry could just _tell_ that Lucius was glaring at him.

“Do enlighten me, Harry…which part of ‘Do…not…touch… _anything_ did you have trouble comprehending?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry wailed miserably, and then, assuming there was no point in still trying to disguise their presence, “ _Lum_ ….”

“Stop!” Lucius’ order was like a whip-crack through the darkness.

The word froze on Harry’s lips. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I figured it wouldn’t matter now…now the wards know we’re here.”

“It is even _more_ imperative now that we do no magic. This room is a trap, we, sorry, _you_ have sprung the first part of it—if we do any magic whatsoever, it will, in all likelihood, spring the second.”

“The _second_ part?” Harry asked querulously. 

“We are in what is known as a ‘lockdown’. It is a room set to trap anybody who is… _prying_ , shall we say, where someone else thinks they should not. Now, the first part of the trap—which _you_ sprung by touching something, when I _explicitly_ told you not to….”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not for some considerable time, Harry, no. Anyway, as I was saying, _you_ sprung the first part of the trap, which essentially imprisons us in this room until the spell wears off.”

“How long will that be?”

“I have no idea.”

“So we could both starve to death in here?” Harry asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

“No, of course not. I shall kill and eat you before that happens.”

For a split second or five, Harry actually thought Lucius was telling the truth…then he heard the muffled sniggering. “You rotten sod!”

“Oh, you are so easy to get a rise out of, Harry,” Lucius laughed, not bothering to disguise his hilarity.

“So, what’s the second part of the trap then?” Harry asked through gritted teeth.

“Ah,” Lucius said, sobering immediately. “If any magic is performed, the trap becomes deadly; a lethal spell of some sort will be triggered.”

“And you don’t know how long we will be here?”

“No. Seriously, I don’t. It could be anything from an hour to a week.”

“A week?” Harry squawked.

“Don’t worry, as soon as we fail to arrive at breakfast in the morning, Vlad will start to wonder where we are—until then I suggest you make yourself as comfortable as you can and prepare for a possible long wait.”

There were faint sounds of Lucius approaching and seating himself on one of the other chairs. There were further sounds as Lucius settled himself, then a soft sigh, and then silence, except for the almost imperceptible sounds of breathing.

Harry kept a check on the time by reference to his watch, which fortunately had luminous hands. The room grew colder and colder, and he pulled his thin cloak around him, wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to keep warm.

Lucius was utterly silent until all of a sudden he demanded, “What’s that noise?”

“W…w…what n…n…noise?”

“ _That_ noise, the sound of your teeth chattering,” Lucius finished wearily. “Come here.”

Harry got off his chair and made his way towards the sound of Lucius’ voice, feeling his way carefully.

“Really, Harry, I know full well you have a decent, warm cloak, why are you not wearing it?”

“I d…didn’t…th…think…I’d ne…need it…tonight,” Harry forced between his chattering teeth.

“Be prepared, Harry. You should always be prepared.”

“W…what are y…you? A b…bloody b…boy scout?” Harry muttered to himself as he closed the distance between himself and the sound of Lucius’ voice.

“What was that, Harry?” said a voice shockingly close to his ear.

“N…nothing.”

His hand met a solid warmth, and the next moment he was manoeuvred into the crook of Lucius’ arm and a heavy fold of cloak was wrapped around him.

“Merlin! You’re freezing. Why didn’t you say something?” Lucius demanded.

“You were cross with me,” Harry said sulkily.

“And you presumed that to mean I would allow you to freeze to death?” Lucius asked incredulously.

Harry, feeling considerably better now that some warmth had returned to his body, merely sighed and burrowed closer into Lucius’ side. After a few moments he said, “Can we light the lantern?”

“Why, are you afraid of the dark?”

“No, only….”

Lucius tightened his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I would, Harry, but there was very little fuel left in the lamp as it was. We may need it later, so if you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s okay.” Harry sighed.

“Let’s get a little more comfortable,” Lucius’ voice said from over Harry’s head.

They were sitting on the sofa, and now Lucius slid along the seat to lie on his side against the back rest. He manoeuvred Harry until the young wizard was spooned against him and then wrapped his cloak around them both.

Slowly Harry felt himself slipping towards sleep, despite the danger of their situation. Behind him Lucius’ breath evened and deepened as he too dozed.

 

****

****

“I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable?”

Harry jerked awake and opened his eyes...only to snap them shut as a bright light was shone in his face. Lucius surged to his feet, unceremoniously dumping Harry onto the floor.

“Severus! How good it is to see you!”

Severus Snape lowered the torch he was holding, and Harry managed to persuade his light-sensitive eyes to open wide enough to assure himself that he wasn’t having a nightmare, and that it was indeed his old professor stood looming over him.

“Come,” the familiar deep voice ordered. “It’s best not to tarry here.”

Lucius grasped Severus’ arm as the dark-haired wizard turned to lead the way out. “But how do you come to be here?” he asked.

“Your arrival set the tin cans rattling,” Severus replied.

“What?” Lucius demanded, obviously puzzled.

“He means,” Harry explained as he got to his feet, “that we triggered some sort of alarm.”

In the light from the torch, Harry saw Severus raise one eyebrow. “Well done, Mister Potter,” he said dryly. “Now, come, we must go.”

“There is something we must find first.”

“Gone,” Severus said succinctly.

“Gone?” Lucius echoed.

“How do you know what we are looking for?” Harry queried.

Severus laughed shortly. “I’ve known Lucius far longer than you have—I am well aware of his interest in Wild Magic. I have to admit,” he added, turning to Lucius, “that I had expected you before this.”

“Gone?” Lucius asked again. “But when, how?”

“Actually some time ago—but really, I will explain everything once we have got out of here. The ruins are highly unstable. We can Apparate, I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” And with a “crack” he was gone.

As if to punctuate Severus’ departure, and underline his warning, there was a sudden ominous rumble from above them. Harry shot one frightened look at Lucius, and then shut his eyes and focused on the yard at the back of the house. Seconds later he was standing under a setting full moon, Lucius and Severus by his side.

Another rumble drew his eyes to the wreckage of the house behind him, and he turned in time to see a huge section of end wall begin to fall inwards; the ground shook beneath their feet, there was a roar of noise, and a huge gust of wind and clouds of powdery dust filled the air as the masonry tumbled into the interior of the house.

“I arrived to save you in the nick of time, it seems,” Severus said calmly. “Tea, I think,” he added, before turning on his heel and making for a gap between the buildings. Lucius and Harry trailed after him, sparing one last glance back at the mounds of rubble behind them.

They followed Severus along a narrow, overgrown path that led into trees. Harry pattered along in the wake of the two older wizards, his head full of questions. Lucius, by the sound of it, had a head full of his own.

“You say the book has gone, Severus? Are you sure? But where? When?”

In answer Severus merely shook his head and glanced into the darkness around them. “Not here,” he muttered, hurrying along the faint path.

Severus led them to a clearing deep in the woods in which stood what seemed to be the ruins of a cottage. He unlocked the door with a large, rusty iron key and ushered Harry and Lucius inside.

On the inside the cottage appeared to be in much better repair. Opposite the door a fire crackled cheerily, and Harry made his way towards it gratefully, holding out his chilled hands to the warmth. A solitary chair stood to one side of the fireplace on a threadbare rug; it looked tatty but comfortable. Harry sank down onto the rug and looked around the room. 

Along the length of one wall was a long table, covered with potion-making equipment: jars of ingredients, cauldrons, scales, tubes of glass through which vividly coloured liquids bubbled and fumed. On the opposite wall was an area for cooking and a kitchen table, again with only one chair. Cupboards and bookcases were ranged in every available place against the walls, and Harry could just make out another door in the far corner of the room which presumably hid a staircase to the floor above. Along the smoke-blackened beams hung bunches of drying herbs. It was sparse, simple, but very Severus. Everything was neat and tidy, and Harry had no trouble envisaging his old professor alone here and happy in his solitude.

Lucius spared the place a glance, and then returned to his questions. “Where, Severus? Where has it gone, and when?”

Severus calmly went to the kitchen area and shifted a large black kettle onto the hot plate of an Aga oven, then he opened a cupboard and withdrew a tin from which he spooned four spoonfuls of tea leaves into a brown earthenware teapot.

Harry could see that Lucius was fretting for answers to his questions, but he managed to keep silent, watching Severus go through the routine of preparing tea. At last, three mugs of steaming brew were ready and handed round, then Severus sank with a sigh onto the single chair. Lucius drew the kitchen chair closer to the fire and seated himself on it, his eyes still intent on his friend.

Severus took a sip of his tea. “Actually, quite some time ago, whilst you were in Azkaban. It was one of the very few things I ever saw Bellatrix disagree with Voldemort about.”

“But what happened to it?”

“It went as part of a trade, in return for a promise of support, along with a number of other magical items that Voldemort considered useless.”

“But the book wasn’t useless,” Lucius said, scandalised.

“It was to Voldemort. We both know, Lucius, that the Dark Lord had no use for magic he couldn’t tame, that he couldn’t bend to his will. Magic that he couldn’t use to further his own ends.”

“Where did it go, to whom was it traded?” Lucius demanded. “Is there any chance we can get it back?”

Severus shook his head and took another sip of his tea. “I doubt that—unless your _friend_ ,” Snape shot a quick look at Harry, “can help you. I believe he is friendly with René Baptiste.”

Lucius gasped. “René Baptiste? Then you mean…?” He left the question unasked as Severus nodded his head.

Lucius frowned, his lips a thin, hard line. “Damn, damn, damn…there is no question that they will know the value of the book.”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t remember anyone called René Baptist—and I’m sure I wasn’t friends with him—whoever his is,” Harry said, confused.

Severus gave him a withering look. “Not you, Raif Yed Prior.”

“Oh.” Harry had not seen Raif since he had assisted in the hunt for Lucius and Draco and, although he had liked Raif, Harry was not altogether displeased that the man had not chosen to stay around; there was something in his relationship with Lucius that worried Harry…he was not sure just how deep their friendship had been, and he was not quite sure enough of his own relationship with Lucius to want competition of any sort, especially not from someone like Raif Yed Prior.

Lucius now looked thoughtful. “I suppose I could get in touch with Raif, ask him if…” he trailed off.

Harry held his breath.

Then Lucius’ expression changed and became rueful; he shook his head. “No, I can’t ask Raif to involve himself. He couldn’t compromise himself for me like that.”

Harry let out a quiet, thankful sigh.

Severus regarded Lucius intently. “It would rather go against his people’s laws…and I feel that Yed Prior treads close enough to the line as it is.”

“Dumbledore’s book has also gone,” Lucius said abruptly. He raised his eyes from where he had been regarding the flickering flames of the fire. “I don’t suppose you happen to know where _that_ book went, do you?” His tone of voice suggested he held out little hope.

Severus' brows drew down. “No, and it was there only recently. Is that why you are here now? Oh, of course, you have been to Hogwarts this evening. I gather a trip to the headmaster’s study was included on the agenda?” he went on, answering his own question. “Well, at least you can be sure that the two books are not in the same hands.”

“Can we?” Lucius queried.

Severus nodded. “There are spells around Hogwarts, older and more powerful than anything Dumbledore could conjure up…Baptiste and his kind could not set foot there.”

“But could they not have employed someone to do their work for them?”

Severus shook his head. “No, not them. They keep their business close to their chests, outsiders are not welcome.”

Lucius looked thoughtful. “So you think we are looking for a _third_ interested party?”

“ _You_ may be; it has nothing to do with me,” Severus said.

Harry was having trouble following the conversation; the tea having warmed his insides and the fire his outsides, he was feeling very soporific. He let out a huge yawn. A quick glance at his watch informed him that it 3:30 am. He yawned again, and this time his yawn was noticed. 

Lucius drained the last of his tea and rose to his feet. “I see someone needs to get to bed,” he remarked, his eyes on Harry. He reached out a hand and pulled Harry to his feet. “Is your fire connected to the Floo, Severus?”

Severus shook his head. “No, and there is little point in you Apparating to London; the Floo will be shut now unless you have a place booked.”

Lucius swore. “Damn, I had forgotten that the International Network shuts down at two am.”

There was a slight pause, and then Severus said, somewhat reluctantly, “You can stay here if you wish—I have a spare bed—if you don’t mind sharing,” he added with a ghost of a smirk.

Lucius smirked back, and drew Harry against his side. “Oh, we don’t mind sharing, do we, Harry?”

Harry looked at Severus. The man’s dark eyes were regarding him intently and the young wizard began to feel decidedly uncomfortable. Severus may well have been one of the few people whom Harry had told about his sexuality, but that did not mean to say he wanted to flaunt it under the man’s nose, especially as Severus seemed to be deriving some private amusement from the thought of he and Lucius sharing a bed. Perhaps Severus was imagining what the two of them might get up to in it…and getting off on the thought. Well, Harry decided, he was going to be sorely disappointed, because nothing was going to happen; he was far too tired and besides, the thought of Severus lying in a room just a few feet away quite put Harry off the idea of sex.

Severus got to his feet and, picking up a candle from the mantelpiece and lighting it, led the way to the door that Harry had assumed hid the staircase; he was right. With a gesture, Severus indicated up the steep wooden steps that led to the eaves. “The door on the right,” he said shortly. “The bed is made up.” He handed them the candle.

It was cold in the tiny guest room. Harry stripped as quickly as he could and clambered into the cold bed, pulling the quilt up until only his eyes were left uncovered. “Hurry up,” he begged Lucius, desperate for the man’s warmth.

As soon as Lucius joined him under the covers, the older wizard reached for Harry and pulled him into a deep kiss, his hands straying over Harry’s smooth flesh.

Harry struggled free. “No,” he hissed, “we mustn’t.”

“Why ever not?” Lucius asked, clearly puzzled.

Harry nodded towards the door. “We mustn’t—not with Severus next door.”

Lucius began to grin. “What would you have me do? Invite him to join us?” he asked, deliberately mistaking the cause of Harry’s concern.

Harry smacked Lucius on the arm. “You know what I mean…besides, I’m too tired.” He shut his eyes to add credence to his words.

Lucius sighed. “Oh well, if you’re too tired, you’re too tired. Pity.” His hands stilled on Harry’s body, only the tip of one finger continued to trace tiny circles around one of Harry’s nipples.

Harry stood it for forty-seven seconds before he gave in with a groan and presented his mouth to be kissed.

“That’s better,” Lucius said with approval. “I was beginning to think I was losing my touch.”


	3. Severus Snape

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

**Severus Severus**

Harry awoke to a face full of sunshine that was streaming in through a skylight over the bed—and no Lucius. He lay for several minutes, the covers pulled up over his eyes, until the demands of his bladder spurred him into action. He was reluctant to venture out of his cocoon of blankets for two reasons: the first of these was that although the little attic room was full of sunshine, it was still so bitterly cold that his breath puffed white clouds into the still air. The second was that after last night he had no wish to face Severus’ leering and innuendo.

Having been determined that he wasn’t going to give his old professor any ammunition to use against him, Harry had given in to Lucius’ persuasive charms and had ended up forgetting Severus’ presence in the other bedroom and being very vocal in his appreciation of his lover’s skill. He blushed to even think about it.

But nature then went beyond calling and threatened to send the heavy squad round, so Harry, wincing as his feet came into contact with the cold, polished floorboards, eased his way out of his warm nest beneath the blankets and hurriedly dragged his clothes on. 

His was grateful to discover that he was right in his assumption that the door leading off the small landing directly opposite the top of the stairs led to a bathroom. A small tin bath stood against one wall and to the side of a narrow window, which let in dim light, was a loo and a washbasin. Having attended to his needs, Harry, with no other reason to put off the evil hour, squared his shoulders and ventured downstairs.

Severus didn’t even look up as he entered, intent, as he was, upon stirring something in a cauldron. 

“There’s a pot of tea just brewed, toast, sausage and eggs…help yourself,” he supplied, never taking his eyes off the bubbling brew.

Harry hurried to the kettle, thankful that no mention had been made of his night’s activities.

“Where’s Lucius?” he asked as he stirred his tea. 

“Out,” Severus said succinctly.

Harry waited for a few seconds to see if further information was to be forthcoming; when it wasn’t he asked, “Where?”

Severus shrugged, mouthing numbers as he counted under his breath.

While he waited for Severus to finish whatever it was he was preparing—experience having taught him that it was a risky business interrupting the man when he was brewing something—Harry drifted over to one of the bookcases and scanned the titles it held. They were mostly related to potions making, but there were one or two that held the promise of more interesting reading.

Finally Severus tapped the spoon on the side of the cauldron, then placed it neatly to one side on a spoon rest.

Harry returned his attention to his old professor. “Did he leave a message for me?”

Severus turned to face him. “Do I look like an owl, Potter?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Severus forestalled him. “In fact he did.” He paused.

“And?” Harry asked, unconsciously sounding very like Lucius.

“He said to wait for him here; he will come back for you when he has completed his business.”

“I wish he’d waited for me. Why didn’t he wake me?”

“No doubt he thought you needed the rest,” Severus answered, with a curl of his lip.

Harry reddened, and took a swig of his tea to cover his embarrassment. Severus regarded him intently.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” he said suddenly.

Harry huffed a sigh. “Oh, don’t you start! I’ve had about as much condemnation of my relationship with Lucius as I can stand.”

“Always so hasty, Potter. I wasn’t, in fact, condemning your relationship—although Merlin knows there is enough about it to censor—I merely asked if you knew what you were getting into. Lucius is a devious, cruel, morally compromised man…and I’m speaking here as his friend.”

“Well, he doesn’t need enemies with friends like you, then!” Harry said hotly.

Severus simply smiled and moved to sit on the chair by the fire. “Actually,” he went on, “I am not that surprised at you two forming a relationship.”

Harry goggled. “Really?” he asked, sitting down suddenly on the kitchen chair.

Severus nodded. “You like danger, Harry—always have and always will—and if there is one thing you can safely say about Lucius, it’s that he’s dangerous.”

“And him? What does he see in me?” Harry asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear what Severus thought.

Severus regarded him seriously. “He sees power, Harry.”

There were several minutes of silence then, as Harry digested Severus’s words—and came to the conclusion that they were probably very true. He did indeed like the thrill of danger that being with Lucius provided. The man could be cutting, diamond-hard, and there were times when Harry could see Lucius strain to maintain his polite, civilised exterior. A shiver ran through him as he thought of what might happen should his lover let the tiger out of the cage.

And Lucius. Was it true that all he could see in Harry was power? And just what did that mean? Would he try to take Harry’s power for himself? Or would he be content to stand by Harry’s side?

There were so many questions that suddenly began to eddy around Harry’s mind, questions that he really didn’t want in his head, and for a moment he cursed Severus for opening the dam that had allowed them to rush in. He sighed.

An awkward silence had fallen between the two men and to break it Harry asked, “Have you been here long? I thought you had a house in a town somewhere.”

“Demolished in the name of progress.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Severus said bluntly. “It was a horrible house; this one suits me much better. And to answer your first question—since the end of the war.”

“And you’re still brewing potions?”

Severus gave Harry a scornful look. “Obviously. It pays the bills,” he added.

Harry desperately searched his mind for something else to talk about. His relationship with Severus, although considerably better than it had been whilst he was at school, had never been easy. Whilst Severus might be content to sit there and stare at Harry in silence from beneath his dark eyebrows, it always made Harry feel like a beetle under a microscope.

“Who is René Baptiste?” he asked abruptly, remembering the name from the night before.

“The head of the vampires.”

“Oh…but wait a minute, didn’t you say that no vampire could set foot at Hogwarts?”

“I did.”

“But that’s rot…there was one at a party Slughorn threw, back when I was in the sixth year, how did _he_ get through the wards?”

“Baptiste would be severely offended if he heard you place him in the same class as that worthless Mudblood that Slughorn trotted out.”

Harry gasped at Severus’ use of the insulting term; the dark-haired wizard held up a finger, then launched into what Harry had come to call “professor mode” during the time they spent together searching for the Horcruxes. 

“No, Harry, this is where the term originated from. In the beginning it was used to describe a vampire who had diluted his blood with impure blood. That is to say, he drank of blood other than human. The pure-blood wizards only adopted it far later as an insulting term to describe those not of pure Wizarding blood.”

“So that was why he could enter the school…because he was not a ‘pure’ vampire?”

“Indeed. Although what Slughorn thought he was doing bringing such a creature into Hogwarts is beyond me! Vow of Abstinence notwithstanding.”

“Vow of Abstinence?”

“A vow a vampire makes to never drink human blood.”

“So, René Baptiste is a ‘pure’ vampire, then?”

“Yes, and as different from that thing you encountered at Hogwarts as wormwood is from unicorn blood. Baptiste is the head of the oldest and most powerful vampire family—and very dangerous; you would do well to dissuade Lucius from any venture there to track down that damn book, should he be so inclined.”

“But didn’t you say that Raif Yed Prior is _friends_ with Baptiste?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed and for a moment he was silent. Harry had the feeling he was wondering just what to say. Finally he nodded his head. “I did; he is. Harry, just what do you know of Yed Prior?”

Harry shrugged. “Very little, really. He came to help Vlad and I look for Lucius and Draco, but I haven’t seen him since.” He paused. “And I know he is a close friend of Lucius.”

Severus gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, yes, they’re close friends.” He opened his mouth again, then shut it with a snap, and Harry was nearly sure that what Severus said next was not what he had originally intended to say. “So you don’t know what he is?”

Harry stilled. “W… _what_ he is?”

Severus nodded. “You have been very privileged, Harry, Raif Yed Prior is one of the very few Tuatha de Danann who still walk in the sight of man.”

“The what now?” Harry asked, bemused.

Severus sighed. “Really, what _do_ they teach them at school these days?”

Harry grinned and started to relax; it was an old joke between the two of them. “Well, obviously nothing about the Tuthy whatnots.”

“Tuatha de Danann, Harry. They are a race that came out of the North many millennia ago—a race of fearsome warriors who possessed unrivalled skill in the art of magic. They defeated all those who stood before them and ultimately settled in Ireland where they ruled for many years. Eventually, they in turn were threatened by another race who wanted to enslave them and use their power as their own. 

Rather than allow themselves to be used in that way, the Tuatha disappeared from the world of mortals and now they are rarely seen. They gave up their warring ways and settled into a life apart from men. The race is descended from the goddess, Dana. So, Harry, you have been lucky enough to meet the son of a goddess.” He paused with true dramatic effect to let his words sink in.

“Raif is a god?” Harry asked incredulously after a moment. He examined Severus closely. “You’re not having me on, are you?” he demanded.

“No, I’m not ‘having you on’. Yed Prior is more powerful than your wildest imagining, Harry. How old do you think he is?”

It seemed an odd question, but Harry gave it some thought. “Oh, I don’t know, about the same age as Lucius, I guess.”

Severus laughed shortly. “Were you to look back over the ages of this land, back to when history began, you would find Raif Yed Prior’s footprints all through them.”

Harry frowned. “You mean, he’s…?” he faltered, trying to work out just how old that would make Raif.

“Immortal…or as near as damn it. Raif has the ability to change his appearance at will. To one man he may appear to be elderly, to another, barely into his twenties—whatever suits the moment. But more often than not he appears to be the age you thought he was.”

Harry gaped, then, after several moments he said, “But if he’s so powerful, why didn’t he help us against Voldemort?”

“The laws of his people forbid him to interfere in, or otherwise influence, the course of human life—although Raif has flouted those laws on a number of occasions,” Severus added, a hint of censor in his voice. “He and his people have a gift, although some might call it a curse—the ability to see into the future. Not all the time, and more often than not just glimpses of what is to be, but it is enough for them to know that if they interfere the future may change…and one change may trigger other changes, changes that go on creating more changes, and so on.”

“Like ripples on a pond?”

Severus nodded.

Harry sat and thought about what Severus had told him, until another thought occurred to him. “How did he and Lucius become friends, then?

“A long story and one that we don’t have time for now,” came a voice from the door. Lucius ducked under the low lintel and entered the cottage. “I overheard you giving Harry a history lesson, Severus.”

Severus nodded. “Just a brief overview…I’m surprised you haven’t told him about Raif yourself, Lucius.”

Lucius shrugged elegantly. “I saw no need—unlike yourself, Severus, I am not bent on forcing education on everyone I meet.” He made his way over to the teapot and poured himself a cup. “Ah, tea,” he said with relish. “Although some better china might be in order, Severus.”

“Might it?” Severus said mildly. “Perhaps you are right…some Spode perhaps. Probably be the making of the place.” His eyes scanned the rustic room.

“Spode?” Lucius said with horror. “Spode is terribly passé. Not that I am an expert at all—Narcissa saw to such things—but I believe Parsons & Booth are the company now.” 

“I shall invest in some immediately,” Severus said, “However did I manage without your advice, Lucius?” he added dryly.

Lucius realised he was being made fun of. With a laugh his eye fell on Harry. “How about some breakfast, Harry?”

Harry was just about to say “yes please” when he realised he was not being asked if he _wanted_ some, but would he _make_ some. With a ‘tut’ and a roll of his eyes, he got to his feet. Lucius treated him to a thorough kissing before he made it to the cooker, and then stole his chair.

“So, Severus, have you had any ideas about who might have taken the book from Hogwarts?”

Severus scowled. “As I told you last night, Lucius, it is your problem—one of your own making—and nothing to do with me.” He paused, then with some obvious reluctance admitted, “I have had one or two thoughts on the subject, however.”

“Good chap, I thought you might have had. Well?”

“The list of people who could have stolen the book is very short.”

“How so?”

“Because, as far as I am aware, the stone guardian has permitted entrance to no one except Minerva and myself—and as that is the only entrance to the headmaster’s study….”

Lucius blushed. “Ah…”

Severus sighed. “Tell me.”

“Well, don’t forget one of my ancestors was headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Of course. Whilst there are those who say that Malfeasance Malfoy was aptly named, I think there were some survivors of his reign of terror.”

“Malfeasance might have been a strict disciplinarian, but I’ll have you know…” Lucius started indignantly.

“I’m joking, just joking,” Severus said quickly.

“Well, no one makes fun of my…”

Harry watched the two men bicker with undisguised delight. He had never seen either man behave in such a way; relaxed and completely at ease with the other, and a part of him was slightly jealous of the closeness of their relationship; it was one based upon years of friendship and familiarity. The quarrel however seemed to be getting rather heated.

“Hem Hem,” Harry coughed, in a very creditable imitation of Professor Umbridge.

Severus shot bolt upright in his seat, gazing wildly round the room until he spotted Harry, leaning against the cooker and grinning from ear to ear. “Merlin,” he snapped. “Potter if you ever do that again…”

“I won’t have sex with you for a week,” Lucius finished sternly.

“Anyone for sausages?” Harry asked innocently.

Lucius and Severus scowled at him a moment longer, before Lucius turned his attention back to Severus.

“As I was saying, when Mal was headmaster of Hogwarts, he saw fit to have a secret access to his study made.”

“No doubt so that he could avoid the attentions of hoards of parents wondering what had become of their little darlings,” Severus said darkly.

“Actually,” Lucius said haughtily, “it was because he had rather a poor memory as far as passwords were concerned.”

“Too many tortures to remember,” Severus muttered under his breath.

Lucius ignored him. “And he had the passageway built in case he forgot the current password.”

“Yes, I can imagine it must have been rather humiliating to be stood outside one’s own study, trying to remember the password that one had made up oneself, whilst streams of children hurried past, snickering at one’s inabilities.”

“They never snickered twice,” Lucius said darkly.

“So, how many people know of this secret passageway?” Severus asked.

Now Lucius frowned. “As far as I know, no one outside of the family.”

“Oh dear,” Severus said with a grin. “Then I’m afraid there is no doubt where the finger of blame is pointing…at you, Lucius, my dear.”

“Why can’t it be someone else in the Malfoy family?” Harry asked.

Lucius turned to him. “Because, Harry, Draco and I are the only ones left.”

“Then maybe someone, a while ago, let the secret out?”

Lucius looked shocked. “Certainly not. The Malfoys never revealed family secrets.”

“Then, as I said before, it appears _you_ are the guilty party, Lucius. Hand it over.”

“But I don’t have it,” Lucius snapped. “You know very well that I don’t.”

“In that case, we are left with a conundrum. I look forward to hearing how you get on with it, Lucius.”

“Perhaps the gargoyle has let someone else in, after all?” Harry said.

Severus shook his head. “No, it has not…I’d know. No, the only possibility is that someone gained access to the Malfoy escape route.”

“Unless Minerva took it?” Lucius declared with sudden conviction.

Severus gave him a withering look, and again shook his head. “She has only been up to the study once, and then she went with me. And at that time the book was still there.”

Harry silently set down a plate that contained one sausage and an egg on the kitchen table. Lucius drew up his chair and with a quiet word of thanks and a look of dismay at the meagreness of his portion, set about eating his breakfast. Harry had noticed the scant supplies in Severus’ cupboards and been economic with his servings. 

When Harry had washed up and tidied away, Lucius was making moves to leave.

“Where did you go earlier?” Harry asked suddenly

“Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies,” Lucius said infuriatingly. “Thank you, Severus, for your hospitality. It was kind of you to give us a bed for the night.”

“And for rescuing us,” Harry put in with feeling, a shudder running through him at the thought of their close call of the night before.

“You’re welcome. Feel free to drop in anytime,” Severus said in a voice heavy with insincerity.

********

“I’ll meet you at the booking office,” Lucius said once they were outside.

“Okay,” Harry began, but Lucius had already Apparated.

They met up again seconds later in the hall of the International Floo Network. Lucius was busy scanning the time slots available. “Look,” he said as Harry came up to him. “There are two slots available at four-thirty this afternoon. We can book those and then fill in the time with some lunch and shopping.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his voice betraying his lack of enthusiasm for the idea. The events of the night before, not to mention too little sleep, made him think he would far rather take the places that were available in twenty minutes, go back to Durmstrang and return to bed—preferably with Lucius. He put forward his plan, a wheedling tone in his voice.

“It’s all very well for you,” Lucius snapped. “You have not been living in exile for the past few years. I only wanted to see if I could get something for Draco for Christmas, the choice is very much better here. But you go home if you want to,” he finished. “Don’t think you have to put yourself out for me.”

Harry was all contrition. “I’m sorry. Of course we can go shopping. I just didn’t think. You’re right, there’s bound to be something here for Draco. And we can have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron first; it’s been ages since I’ve been there.” 

Lucius scowled at him. “Please don’t think you have to humour me, Harry. If you wish to go back to Durmstrang, then go. I only thought the present I had in mind for you might be easier to select if you are with me.”

“Come on,” Harry said bracingly, pulling Lucius in the direction of the counter. “Let’s get those places booked before someone else does. Then I fancy some of Tom’s steak and kidney pie.”

They had a leisurely lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, topping up the breakfast they had eaten at the cottage, and then sauntered, arm in arm, out onto Diagon Alley. All the shops were decked out with Christmas decorations, and Harry, feeling somewhat more enthusiastic about the whole shopping thing now that he was outside some very substantial steak and kidney pie, was suddenly glad that Lucius had persuaded him to stay. He beamed up at the man by his side. “Where shall we go first?” he asked.

Lucius looked down at him. “Something for Draco first, I think. If you don’t mind?”

“Course not…we can do just what you want. So, what do you think he would like?”

Draco had, since the beginning of September, been in a clinic in Norway. It was the best that money could buy…the best that _Harry’s_ money could buy. Lucius had taken a great deal of persuasion to accept Harry’s offer to pay for Draco’s treatment, but in the end he’d wanted what was best for his son, and so he and Harry had set about finding the best place they could that specialised in curing the type of trauma that Draco had suffered. Now, every other weekend, Lucius went to visit his son. And every time he came home he seemed more and more encouraged by Draco’s progress.

“He seems to be displaying some interest in playing chess again—he was very good, you know—perhaps a new chess set?” Lucius mused.

“Knights and Bishops, then,” Harry said.

Lucius paused. “I would, in the past, have gone to Messers King and Co, but I’m afraid their prices are beyond me now.” He frowned.

“I…I can pay,” Harry offered.

Lucius shook his head, then halted and swung Harry round into his arms. “You, my little one, have already been far more generous than I or Draco have any right to expect. You have a big heart, Harry Potter.”

In the middle of Diagon Alley, Lucius bent to kiss Harry deeply and Harry clung to him, oblivious of the muttered comments around them. It was wildly out of character for Lucius to put on such a public display of his affection for Harry, and when they broke apart, Harry was grinning like a loon, his confidence in Lucius’ feelings for him considerably strengthened by Lucius’ actions. Surely, if the man was willing to kiss Harry in the middle of Diagon Alley, he must be serious about his feelings for the young wizard?

Lucius returned his smile. “Come along, you can introduce me to the delights in store at Knights and Bishops.”

They spent a happy half an hour browsing the sets of chessmen on offer. In the end they picked a set shaped like tiny dragons. The little figures roared and clawed convincingly and Harry was hard pressed to resist the temptation to buy himself a set. They picked a chessboard to match, and whilst they were being packaged, Lucius led Harry across the street to a narrow little door set between two other shop fronts.

“And now for a little something for you,” he said, ushering Harry through the entrance. They made their way up a neat set of stairs until they reached the room at the top. Discreet glass cases were set around the walls and Harry gasped at the gems that sparkled and glittered therein.

Lucius, it appeared, was known to the proprietor, a thin, balding man. “Ah, Mister Malfoy, it has been such a long time. And how are you these days?”

“As well as can be expected, Jems.”

“And what can we do for you today?” Jems glanced in Harry’s direction. “Ah, Mister Potter, what a pleasure to be sure.”

“Hi,” Harry said awkwardly.

“So, is it to be something for you, Mister Malfoy, or something for Mister Potter?”

“I wish to purchase a gift for Mister Potter,” Lucius said haughtily.

“Then emeralds, to be sure, to match the eyes?”

Lucius shook his head. “No, I have something different in mind. Moonstones.”

“Moonstones?” Jems queried, and his face fell slightly. “Ah, yes. We have one or two items in store at the moment. Shall I show them to you?” His obsequious air seemed to have faded rather, and Harry gathered that moonstones were perhaps not as costly as the emeralds the man had originally suggested.

“I fail to see how we can judge what you have to offer if you do _not_ show them to us,” Lucius said, the chill in his voice almost palpable. 

Jems’ eyes widened and he stuttered, “Of course, stupid of me…I’ll get them right now, just one moment, Sir.” He scurried into a little back room that was hidden from any patron’s prying eyes by a bead curtain.

He emerged a few moments later, bearing a tray lined with black velvet. On the tray were several items of jewellery all set with gem stones that shone like moonlight. 

Harry gasped. “They’re beautiful.” 

Lucius smiled indulgently. “Have you never seen moonstones before, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “They’re like drops of water, all silvery and blue.”

Lucius’ eyes turned back to the tray. “They are rather fetching, aren’t they? Still, these are of low quality.” His eyes rose to those of the proprietor. “If this is the best you can do, we shall have to go elsewhere…come, Harry.”

“W…wait,” Jems stuttered. “There is one other piece, very old, very good quality stones, but it is in need of repair. If Sir could wait for a day or two…?”

Lucius regarded the man implacably. “All right, bring it out. I shall soon judge if it is worth the wait.”

Jems scurried into the back room, carrying with him the tray of offending jewellery. 

Harry tugged Lucius’ sleeve. “Lucius?” he whispered. “Don’t spend too much on me, please.”

Lucius looked down at him. “Why ever not?” he asked in a normal tone of voice. “I am fully expecting _you_ to buy _me_ something extravagant and wildly expensive.”

Harry laughed as Lucius’ eyes crinkled with humour. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you,” he teased. In fact he _had_ spent rather a lot on Lucius’ Christmas present, and then had cold feet about giving it to the man. The fact that Lucius was buying _him_ jewellery made him much happier about the little gift he had tucked away at Durmstrang.

Jems returned. This time there was only one item displayed on the black velvet. And now Harry could see just what Lucius had meant about the other stones being of poor quality. The stones in this pendant were as clear as water, but they shone with some sort of inner fire that took Harry’s breath away. At the centre of the piece was a single large round stone and to either side of it were two other stones shaped like crescents, bracketing the central stone. The stones were set in silver filigree that curled and spiralled around them in a complicated pattern. The pendant went down to a point, from which were suspended three further moonstones.

Lucius picked up the piece of jewellery with one gloved hand. “Ah, yes, this is far more like it. Harry? What do you think?” He proffered the pendant to Harry, who took it with something akin to reverence.

“I think it’s beautiful,” he said, his voice hushed. Harry turned the pendant this way and that, watching as the stones caught the light and reflected it back with flashes of blue and silver. Then he looked back up at Lucius. “It’s beautiful,” he repeated.

“Then we shall take it,” Lucius said with finality. “What is this repair that you spoke of?” he asked Jems.

Jems reached to take the pendant from Harry, who passed it back reluctantly. The shopkeeper turned the item over. “Here, on the back.” He indicated with a finger. “There is a little loose filigree.”

Harry bent to peer at the place the man had indicated…and noticed what he thought was some sort of engraving. But before he could be sure, Jems turned the pendant back over and went on. “And the setting of one of the stones needs a little attention.” He pointed to the stone on the left of the centre stone, rocking it with his finger. “See?”

“How long will it take to repair? I need it by Christmas.” 

“Of course, Sir. It will only take a day or two; I shall make it a priority. You are, after all, one of my most valued customers.” Jems carefully replaced the pendant on the velvet and Harry tactfully wandered over to the other side of the room whilst money changed hands. He was not sure how expensive the pendant was, but he was sure it was worth far more that the other moonstone jewellery he and Lucius had been shown.

When they got back to the street, it had started to snow. Huge fluffy, white flakes were pelting down and quickly covering the cobbles. Harry turned up his face to the falling snow. “Isn’t it great?” he cried.

Lucius frowned. “It’s not as if we don’t get several feet of snow, every year, at Durmstrang.”

Harry grinned at him. “But it’s not the same. Most of the time, if you go out when it’s snowing there, it’s so cold your ears could freeze and fall right off!” Harry knew he was being silly, but he was feeling giddy with delight. Everything seemed so perfect: he was here with Lucius; he had just been bought a beautiful gift by the man he loved; it was snowing; it was nearly Christmas. All these things combined to make Harry feel that he couldn’t be happier. 

Lucius smiled at him indulgently, then he too turned his face up to the falling snow. “I know what you mean.”

For a few seconds they stood together, oblivious of the hurrying crowds, then they both turned and went back to Knights and Bishops to pick up Draco’s chess set.

They had forty-five minutes before their time slots at the Floo. Harry was just about to suggest they go to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint when Lucius said, “There are one of two things I need to get from the Apothecary. I’ll meet you back at the Floo.”

“I can come with you, if you like?”

Lucius shook his head. “Not necessary. I’ll see you later.” With that he turned quickly on his heel and made off down the street. Harry watched him go for a moment or two, and then shrugged and headed for the Leaky Cauldron. Presumably whatever Lucius was intent on purchasing was of a personal nature. 

Thirty-five minutes later he was tapping his foot in the departure hall at the International Floo Connection. He and Lucius had ten minutes to get to their departure point. The Floo officials were notoriously strict about timekeeping and if they missed their slot, goodness knows when they would get another. 

He was just glancing at his watch for the twentieth time when a familiar voice said, “Just when I thought it was safe to travel—secure in the knowledge that you would have returned to Durmstrang—here you are. Why are you still in London, Potter?” Severus Snape stood by Harry’s shoulder. 

“We stopped to have some lunch and do some shopping, then Lucius said to meet him here, as he had to get something from the Apothecary. He’d better hurry up or we’ll miss our slot.”

Severus frowned. “I have just been in the Apothecary for the past hour, I didn’t see him come in.”

Harry looked puzzled. “Perhaps he went to a different one?”

“There is only one…unless he went to the one on Knockturn Alley; I wouldn’t like to think what he wished to purchase that could only be found there. Unless your love-life needs a little spicing up, eh?”

Severus nudged Harry, a wicked grin on his face.

Harry blushed. As far as he was concerned, he and Lucius’ love-life needed no help whatsoever. He was saved from having to answer Severus’s question by the arrival of Lucius himself. There was a flurry of leave-taking and then he and Lucius were on their way back to Budapest and Durmstrang.


	4. Christmas (Part 1)

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

Christmas (Part One)

By the time Harry and Lucius made it back from London it was nearly six o’clock. Harry yawned as they stumbled from the Floo into the great hall.

Although not anywhere near as extravagant as the decorations at Hogwarts, some attempts had been made to make the big room more festive. Four huge fir trees stood, one in each corner of the room, laden with tinsel, little lights that twinkled, and spun glass baubles of the most wonderful shapes and designs, some clear, others coloured like miniature rainbows, all reflecting the light and dancing it around the room.

The tables too had been decorated. Covered with red cloths with arrangements of holly and berries in the centre.

There was no sign of any of the teachers who had elected to stay at Durmstrang over the Christmas holiday.

“They must have gone to Arelsbadd,” Harry suggested, his eyes on the empty table, then he gasped. “Oh no, we never let Vlad know where we were; he’ll be worried.”

Lucius shook his head. “I sent him a note this morning, to let him know that we might take the opportunity to do some shopping whilst in town.”

“So that’s where you went?”

“Do you wish to join the others for a meal, or shall we have a little something in my rooms?” Lucius asked, his eyes informing Harry exactly what he had in mind.

Harry’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, a think a little something in your rooms would be nice. Although,” he added innocently, “you really must stop describing yourself as ‘little’.”

In answer, Lucius cuffed him around the back of the head and then marched him upstairs.

****

Valentin’s metamorphosis into Lucius Malfoy had been accepted with remarkable equanimity, Harry thought, by the staff and pupils at Durmstrang.

He, Vlad and Lucius had debated the idea of Lucius remaining in his disguise as Valentin only briefly before deciding that being open about the whole situation was the best policy.

The staff who had remained at Durmstrang over the summer had been the first to know about the sudden change to the Dark Arts teacher, and if there was an unexpected and somewhat early return of the rest of the staff shortly afterwards…well, that was understandable.

Although a few comments had been passed, on the whole life went on as usual. After all, whilst he might look different, the Dark Arts teacher was still the same man.

The children too found the topic only interesting for a week or so—and then they moved on to other, more pertinent, subjects for discussion. Valentin’s little fan club shifted only slightly, losing those members who preferred Valentin’s smouldering dark looks and gaining those who admired Lucius’ icy blonde.

Harry had been perhaps the subject of more conjecture than Lucius. He still made a habit of dropping in to Alex Johnson’s Friday night soirees and it was here that the other teachers satisfied their curiosity.

“So, Harry, how long have you known who he really was?” Alex had asked, pushing a glass into Harry’s hand, his eyes alight with interest.

“Oh, a little while,” Harry had answered carefully, reluctant to get into a detailed discussion of the exact circumstances involved.

“I can’t believe you didn’t turn him in when you knew,” Llewellyn had said with a shake of his head. “After all, wasn’t there a fair amount of history between you two? Weren’t you at school with his son?”

Harry had shrugged. “Yes, there was some stuff in the past…but you know that was a long time ago…”

“A long time ago?” Dmitri had hooted. “Harry, I have known families around here to carry grudges for _generations_ for less than occurred between you and Lucius Malfoy.”

“Ah, but Harry here was in lurve,” Alex chipped in, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Harry had blushed. “I have to admit,” he’d said slowly, “that I’d fallen in love with him as Valentin before I knew who he really was. By the time I discovered his real identity, I had learned to see the good in him.”

“Bloody hell,” Alex had said with feeling, “you must have spent a damn sight longer looking that the rest of us. He scared me as Valentin; he scares me even more now I know he’s really Lucius bloody Malfoy. Honestly, Harry, you don’t half like dicing with danger.”

“He’s not that bad—when you get to know him—really. He’s just…well, he’s had a lot to cope with and…and there’s his upbringing…and, well lots of other stuff. It makes him difficult to approach, and get to know…but once you do…”

“The rewards make it all worth while, eh, Harry?” Alex had laughed, nudging Harry in the ribs.

Harry had grinned sheepishly.

“So, what _is_ he like in bed then?” Alex had asked.

****

There were times, like the night before, when making love with Lucius was a rush of heat: a jumble of limbs; a hard, thrusting build of pleasure until the inevitable climax.

And then there were times like tonight, when Lucius’ hands flowed like water over Harry’s skin, barely perceptible touches that had Harry arching into their insubstantiality with a cry of desperate need. 

When Lucius’ lips drifted as soft as frosted rose petals over every inch of Harry’s skin—until they finally reached Harry’s core and wrapped themselves around his aching prick, soothing it with caresses, tempting it with sweeps of a long, clever tongue and teasing it with scrapes of hard, white teeth.

When Lucius’ skin felt cool on Harry’s overheated body. When it slipped across him like snowflakes on glass as he leant over Harry’s back. When Lucius’ thighs were like columns of marble against the back of Harry’s legs and his fingers like diamonds on Harry’s hips. When Lucius entered Harry with one long, slow push that seemed to burn like ice.

But when Lucius was cool it somehow seemed to heat Harry all the more, igniting his body into flashes of burning pleasure until it ran like rivers of flame over his skin and skittered like hot embers along his limbs. Until finally his body began to spark its heat to Lucius and the long, steady thrusts became more frantic; rhythm lost to the final need for release and a boiling torrent released deep into Harry’s body as Harry himself toppled into ecstatic orgasm.

They lay side by side, breath still ragged, wallowing in the afterglow of a very satisfying fuck.

“I don’t think our sex life needs any spicing up at all,” Harry said with feeling.

“Hmm?” Lucius responded, on the edge of sleep. “Whatever made you think of that?”

“Something Severus said.”

Lucius propped himself on one elbow and looked down at Harry, a frown on his face. “Are you telling me you have just been thinking about Severus Snape? Only minutes after we had sex?”

“Only because of what he said, when I waiting for you at the IFC.”

“What _did_ he say?” Lucius demanded.

“Only that he hadn’t seen you at the Apothecary—when I told him that was where you’d said you were going—and that maybe you’d gone to the Apothecary on Knockturn Alley for something to spice up our sex life. Only I don’t think it needs any spicing up, do you? I mean, I’m not a very good judge because I’ve not much experience and…”

“Be quiet,” Lucius interrupted. “No, Harry, our sex life does not need _spicing up_. I think between us we have enough imagination to keep it interesting for a good while yet. Nor does our sex life need any interference from Severus bloody Snape,” he finished with a snap, flinging himself back on his pillow.

Harry lay still, hardly daring to move, until a devilish grin appeared on his face. “Well,” he said innocently. “I wasn’t the one who wanted to invite him into our bed.”

“You know very well I was only teasing you; besides, his tastes don’t run in that direction.”

“Don’t they?”

“No.”

They lay in silence for a few more minutes until Lucius suddenly said, “I suppose you and Severus became quite close during the time you were together?” It was a casually asked question, but Harry could hear a note of tension behind the words.

“I wouldn’t say _close_ …more, I don’t know. I suppose I came to _trust_ him. Even if it was to trust him to be a bad tempered, sarcastic and downright miserable git. No matter what, Snape would always be Snape. He was a constant, if you like, something I could rely on…which was pretty amazing considering how much we hated each other before.” Harry stopped, his thoughts back in those terrible times. 

Beside him Lucius lay still, his grey eyes intent on Harry’s face.

“He was one of the very few people who I told…when I thought I was gay,” Harry said slowly. “I don’t know why, just came out, I guess. Ha, ha,” he added. “Unintentional pun there.”

“Pun?”

“Me coming out.” 

Lucius looked blank.

“Oh, must be a Muggle thing. When someone tells someone else they’re gay it’s called coming out…as in coming out of the closet.”

Lucius’ face was a picture of bewilderment. “Out of the closet? Why would they be in one in the first place?”

“Well, not _actually_ in it, just…oh, never mind.”

“Did you keep in touch after the war?”

Harry shook his head. “He just disappeared. One day he was there, the next gone.”

“And you didn’t think to look for him?”

“No. If he’d wanted me to know where he was, he would have left me an address or something. Besides, I knew how he felt. He just wanted to move on, to leave the war and everything else behind and get on with his life.”

“Much as you yourself did.”

“Yeah, only I took rather longer to achieve it,” Harry said bitterly.

A soothing hand slid over his chest. “Why _did_ you stay so long?”

Harry sighed. “I suppose I thought I owed them.”

“Owed them?” Lucius echoed incredulously. “After all that you had done for them?”

“They needed me to be...I don’t know...a sort of figurehead, a rallying point. A focus of their visions for the future.”

“And so you became a living statue to victory?”

Lucius’ words so exactly matched what Harry himself had thought, that it shocked him. He had never expected Lucius to understand him quite so deeply, despite what he had told the Weasleys. There had always been some part of Harry that presumed Lucius’ interest him was pretty superficial, that the older wizard had not really taken the time to get to know Harry as much as Harry had taken the time to get to know Lucius.

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Lucius went on, “when everyone expects you to behave in a certain way, to be what _they_ perceive you to be. You can end up losing sight of yourself, forgetting just who you really are.”

“I was fading,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes unfocused in the dim light from the candles in the room. “I’d become so used to doing what everyone expected, that thinking of doing something for myself seemed somehow wrong, as if I had no right.”

The soothing hand stilled and Lucius pulled Harry into his arms so that Harry’s cheek was resting on his chest. “Time to leave the past behind, Harry. You are your own man now and it’s time to do what _you_ want to do, _be_ who you want...and be damned to those that don’t approve.”

“I don’t think I’m doing too badly now,” Harry answered, then he laughed. “Especially the ‘those that don’t approve bit’.”

“But you could be so much _more_ , Harry. It’s time to start living for _you_ , time to realise your potential.”

“You’re right,” Harry said, as sleep began to claim him. “But can it wait until morning?” He yawned spectacularly and settled himself more comfortably on Lucius’ chest.

“Of course,” Lucius said softly.

****

Three days before Christmas, Lucius dropped a bombshell.

They were curled up on the sofa in Lucius’ rooms, sitting in comfortable silence, watching the dancing flames of the fire when Lucius suddenly said, “I’d like to give you your Christmas gift tonight, Harry.”

Harry stirred, turning to look up at Lucius with a smile. “It’s okay; I think I can stand the anticipation until Christmas Day.”

“But I would like to give you my gift in person.”

It took a few seconds for Lucius’ words to sink in—and for their meaning to dawn on Harry. He sat upright, his face a picture of confusion. “But won’t you be here on Christmas Day?” he asked worriedly.

Lucius shook his head. “The clinic says that Draco is well enough for an overnight visit, and that it would be good for him to have a little excitement on Christmas Day. They are having a quiet party for the patients and those members of their families who wish to join them…I have informed them of my intention to be present, and to spend the night of Christmas Eve there.”

Harry clenched his teeth and swallowed down the bitter feelings of resentment towards his former rival. “That’s great,” he managed to squeeze out. “Draco must be doing really well if they think that.”

Lucius’ eyes shone and a fond smile creased his lips. “Indeed he is—better even than the doctors thought. I’m hoping,” he added, his voice full of suppressed optimism, “that it won’t be too long before he is able to come home.”

“Oh, that’ll be great,” Harry said insincerely. As much as he abhorred what had happened to Draco, it was a fact that Draco returning to live at Durmstrang would change Harry and Lucius’ relationship. “I...I’ll miss you,” he added.

“I’ll miss you too, Harry, but it’s only for one or two days. Let me get your gift.”

Lucius rose from the sofa and crossed the room to the bureau bookcase. He unlocked the fall front and from a small drawer in the interior brought forth a beautifully wrapped little box. Although Harry knew what it contained, he was still looking forward to unwrapping his present, albeit his excitement was now tempered by the knowledge that he would be alone on Christmas Day. He didn’t even have the option of joining the Weasleys for their celebrations—this year had been the first year that an invitation had not been extended for him to spend a few days at The Burrow.

Lucius retook his seat and handed Harry the box. “Happy early Christmas, Harry. I’m sorry that I won’t be spending it with you, but there will be other years.”

Lucius’ last words raised Harry’s spirits considerably. The thought that Lucius was considering that their relationship might be long-lasting gladdened Harry’s heart and he took the gift with a much more cheerful smile on his face.

The pendant was every bit as beautiful as Harry remembered, and now it had been suspended on a heavy silver chain. He reached to take it from the box, but Lucius’ fingers were there before him. “Allow me, Harry.”

The older wizard carefully lifted the pendant and chain from the box and then, after placing the case to one side, settled the chain around Harry’s neck, his grey eyes intent on Harry’s face. “You are very important to me, Harry. You do know that, don’t you?” he said seriously.

Harry nodded. “As are you to me, Lucius.” His face broke into a wide smile and he shook his head. “It’s crazy. Had anyone told me a year ago that I would fall in love with Lucius Malfoy...I’d have called St Mungo’s to have them taken away.”

Lucius joined in Harry’s laughter. “Had anyone suggested the same to me—that I would fall in love with Harry Potter—I would have hexed them into next week.”

Harry settled comfortably into the crook of Lucius’ arm and took hold of the pendant, bringing it up to his face for closer inspection. The firelight reflected on the pale stones, shooting them through with a red light, like a sunset seen through ice. “It really is so very beautiful, Lucius. Thank you very much. I shall always treasure it.” He turned the pendant over in his fingers, examining every inch of the craftsmanship.

“Oh, look, there _is_ something etched on the back. I thought I noticed something back at the shop,” he suddenly exclaimed. He twisted the ornament this way and that, trying to catch the light to illuminate the pattern. “I think they’re words,” he said at last. “But I don’t know the language.”

“Let me see,” Lucius asked, holding out his hand.

Harry lifted the pendant from around his neck and passed it across.

Lucius bent towards the fire, squinting at the back of the piece of jewellery. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I think I see something. Ah, yes. You are right; it is some sort of script...but not one I am familiar with. We must try and see if we can find out more about it.” He handed the pendant back to Harry, who settled the item back around his neck with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“I have another gift for you, Harry,” Lucius said.

“Really?” Harry’s eyes shone with anticipation. 

Lucius nodded. “This one though, I am afraid, is of the promissory sort.”

“Promissory sort?” Harry queried.

“Indeed. I promise to take you away for a weekend before school resumes in January.”

Harry’s face lit up. “Wow, great...where are we going?”

“Cardavia—it’s a town high up in the mountains. Very beautiful, very historic…and very romantic.” He smiled at Harry.

“It sounds fantastic, Lucius. I can’t wait,” Harry said enthusiastically. “When will we go?”

“I thought the weekend before the children return to school. We have our lessons well prepared and it would be a break for us. And a way for me to make up to you the fact that I shall be away for Christmas.”

Harry blushed. “You don’t need to make anything up to me…it’s quite understandable that you should want to spend Christmas with Draco. And it really is great that he’s doing so well.” Harry was more inclined to be generous now that he had a romantic weekend away with Lucius to look forward to.

A few seconds later he jumped to his feet and with a quick, “Wait here,” Harry scampered from the room. He returned a few minutes later, bearing a small box. Seating himself back on the settee, in the crook of Lucius’ arm, he shyly presented the gift. “It’s only fair,” he explained. “I’ve had my Christmas present from you; you should have yours from me.”

Lucius took the box from his hand and with his long, graceful fingers, made short work of the decorative string and the bow, before carefully removing the shiny silver paper. Lifting the lid of the box, he stared wordlessly at the item contained therein, and for one dreadful moment Harry thought he had made a horrible mistake in his choice of gift.

“It’s…I thought,” he began.

Lucius removed the ring from the box, and slid it onto his finger, where the perfect sapphire that was mounted in the white gold winked in the light from the fire. Still Lucius said nothing, and now Harry was sure he had erred in his judgement. He had thought the gift of a ring given with love would cancel out the memory of the ring he had made Lucius wear to bind him to the school, when Harry had used blackmail to get what he wanted from the man by his side.

“Oh, Lucius, I’m sorry, I should have thought…” 

Lucius interrupted him. “What on earth are you sorry for? It’s magnificent, Harry. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you.” Now Lucius turned his eyes to Harry, and the young wizard was relieved to see no hint of anger in them. Lucius smiled. “It makes my gift to you seem rather tawdry.”

Harry’s relieved expression changed to one of dismay. “No, it doesn’t. I love my pendant.” He grasped it in his hand. “Its value—or the value of the ring I gave to you—is not important; it’s the fact they are gifts given with love that’s the important thing.”

“Yes,” Lucius said slowly, the tone of his voice almost surprised. “I do love you, Harry…and my gift to you was certainly a token of that love.” He shook his head and his eyes went back to the great sapphire.

“But?” Harry asked tentatively, sure that there was more to come, and not sure if he really wanted to hear it.

Lucius was silent, and then his face broke into a smile. “But nothing. Come on, it’s late and time for bed.”

For a moment Harry considered challenging Lucius, making him tell Harry whatever it was that was on his mind, but then Lucius leaned forward and kissed him, and Harry decided that discretion was the better part of valour and gave himself up to being loved.


	5. Christmas (Part 2)

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

**Christmas (Part 2)**

In the end, Christmas Day was not nearly as bad as Harry had feared—largely due to the arrival of a rather unexpected guest.

Lucius departed for the Sanatorium on Christmas Eve. Harry walked down with him to the Floo in the great hall, trying desperately to paint on a cheerful face. He had so been looking forward to spending his first Christmas Day with his lover, and now instead he would be spending it alone.

Durmstrang was beset by a violent blizzard; snow hurled itself against the narrow windows and the wind shrieked outside the thick walls. Harry hugged his cloak close about him as he and Lucius made their way downstairs. Lucius was carrying his overnight bag and seemed to be oblivious of Harry’s true feelings, looking forward as he was to seeing his son. Harry swallowed down a bubble of savage resentment against Draco.

Although Harry hated what had happened to Draco, and was pleased that Lucius’ son was now on the road to recovery, he couldn’t help but be concerned about what the future might hold for he and Lucius, should Draco become well enough to return to Durmstrang. There was part of him that had never lost sight of the fact that Draco had a great deal of influence over his father...and had never lost sight of the fact that Draco had hated Harry with a deep and abiding passion. There was every chance that should he return to be with his father, his memory recovered, Draco could very well cause a great deal of mischief between Harry and Lucius. Harry was not even sure his old nemesis couldn’t split them up, should he so wish.

So, whilst he did wish Draco well, Harry also wished that he would remain in Norway as long as possible.

“I see now what you mean about the snow.”

“What?” Harry jerked out of his dark reflections to find they had arrived in the great hall.

“The snow. I see what you mean. When we were in London? About how it was different there?” Lucius shivered theatrically. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be out in this.” He glanced towards the dark windows against which the snow could just be heard scratching over the sound of the wind. “Sounds like something trying to get in.”

“Yeah.” Harry had still not quite caught up with the conversation, but now he roused himself from his worries and caught Lucius to him. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered against the warm hollow of Lucius’ neck.

“And I you,” Lucius replied, dropping a quick kiss onto Harry’s upturned mouth. “But I have to go...you understand, Harry, don’t you?”

Harry nodded wordlessly.

“I’ll be back late tomorrow, no need to wait up for me.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I will,” Harry declared with feeling. “I might not be getting to spend the day with you...but I can spend the night with you.” He grinned.

Lucius ruffled his hair. “If you want. But don’t be concerned if I don’t make it back, you know how unreliable the Floo can be at Christmas. I must go; I don’t want to miss my connection. Take care, Harry. Happy Christmas.”

And with that Lucius was gone, and Harry was left staring at the dying green flames and feeling lonelier than he thought he had ever felt before.

He had just turned away from the fireplace when a sudden rush of noise signalled the activation of the Floo. Harry turned back, the irrational thought that Lucius had decided he couldn’t bear to be parted from Harry, causing a beam of delight on his face. But it wasn’t Lucius who stepped from the green flames; it was Raif Yed Prior. 

Harry’s face fell.

Raif looked at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. Not whom you were expecting?”

Harry shook his head, fighting the stupid urge to cry. “No. Erm, Lucius isn’t here...he’s gone to visit Draco at the clinic. You just missed him.”

“I know. I didn’t come to see Lucius, Harry. I came to see you.”

“Me?”

Raif stepped from the fireplace and came and placed a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Lucius told me of his plans. He was afraid you would be lonely and asked me to look in on you, help you celebrate the season.”

Harry was gratified that Lucius had thought to provide him with a companion, but Raif was poor recompense for the man himself. Harry forced himself to be polite. “That’s very kind of you, but, but don’t you have your own family to be with?”

Raif laughed. “Oh, I’ll not be missed; besides, I’d rather be with you. Now, let’s say we go and try out the local hostelry? I believe the rest of the staff are there already?”

Harry nodded. “But I don’t really feel...thought I’d just go and...”

“No you don’t,” Raif said bracingly. “That’s no way to celebrate Christmas Eve, sitting in your room on your own, moping.” 

He turned and placed a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders. Harry looked up into the startlingly blue eyes...and felt a wave of peace and acceptance wash over him. He smiled, and with a touch of annoyance asked, “Are you sure that’s entirely ethical?”

Raif tried, and failed, to look innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Just out of interest, how much _can_ you influence the way I feel?”

Raif grinned. “Not that much, so you have no need to worry.”

Harry frowned in puzzlement. “Not _what_ much?”

Raif winked at him. “Only enough to influence your decision to accompany me to the inn. Come on, you can’t seriously mean to leave me to the tender mercy of Dmitri and that damn schnapps?”

Harry laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen victim to him as well?”

Raif pulled a rueful face. “Indeed, but I have a little bottle of revenge here in my cloak pocket, what say you we go and see if we can turn the tables?”

It seemed that most of the Durmstrang teachers knew Raif, and welcomed him with enthusiasm when he and Harry arrived at the pub. Harry found himself once again wondering just how often the dark-haired man had been to visit Lucius, and in what capacity. However, determined not to look for trouble where none might exist, Harry pushed the thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on trying to enjoy himself.

So it was that he found himself ensconced in the Cloak and Dagger, with Raif at his side, laughing harder than he had done for years. The few members of staff who had remained at the school for Christmas had commandeered two large tables and, having consumed rather more alcohol than could perhaps be considered wise, had persuaded Madam Venitia to give a performance of her version of Eskimo Nell.

By the time she had clambered onto the table and worked her way through thirty-four verses, the entire pub was cheering her on. Harry was clutching his side, and tears of laughter were coursing down his cheeks.

“A little bit more entertaining than sitting alone in your room, don’t you agree?” Raif shouted in his ear, attempting to be heard over the din.

“Oh, yes,” Harry gasped. Then he turned fully to face Raif. Slightly more soberly he mouthed, “Thank you,” and grinned.

Harry had wisely refrained from indulging in more than two glasses of the killer brew and had joined in with the others’ encouragement when Raif had persuaded Dmitri to sample a glass from the bottle he pulled from his pocket. Raif had winked at Harry as he offered the innocuous-looking drink to other man, and the entire group of assembled teachers had held their breath, eyes fixed on Dmitri as he first sniffed, and then tossed back the drink that Raif handed to him.

The effect had been spectacular. At first the potion had seemed to have no effect upon Dmitri, and the man had begun to scoff, puffing out his chest and declaring that nothing could touch his schnapps for potency. Then a change had come over him. Midway through a sentence his words had become nonsense, he had sagged back onto his chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut and he had suddenly turned a brilliant crimson. The assembled teachers had roared with laughter—all having been a victim of Dmitri’s schnapps at one time or another.

Raif had allowed the laughter to ring for a few moments and had then tipped a small bottle of violently coloured green liquid down Dmitri’s throat, which had restored the man to full working order. Dmitri had taken it in good spirits, especially when Raif had whispered to him what it was he had sampled.

“That, my friend, Dmitri, is wine from the very table of the gods themselves…smuggled here just for you.” 

Harry hadn’t forgotten the misery that Lucius’ absence was causing him, but it had been partially subsumed by the merriment of the party and it was with considerably lighter spirits that he returned to Durmstrang with the rest, just on the stroke of midnight.

Calls of “Merry Christmas” rang through the chill halls of Durmstrang as the few teachers made their way to their rooms. Raif walked Harry back to his room, but stopped at the door. “Goodnight, Harry. Merry Christmas.” He enfolded Harry in a brief hug and then released him.

“But won’t you come in?” Harry asked.

Raif shook his head. “No, but Vlad has kindly offered me a bed for the night, so I will see you tomorrow.”

Harry’s face fell and he felt unaccountably disappointed. All his loneliness at being parted from Lucius resurfaced.

Raif reached out and cupped his face with one long-fingered hand. Harry felt his limbs grow heavy and his eyes start to close. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he mumbled, sure now that the blame for his sudden bouts of sleepiness could be laid firmly at Raif’s door.

Raif smiled. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you wouldn’t want to be awake when St Nick comes, now would you? I do hope you’ve been a good boy this year.”

Harry nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open now. Vaguely he was aware of being manoeuvred into his room, and then sleep overwhelmed him and he knew no more.

 

****

****

Harry awoke bright and early on Christmas morning; a quick glance at his watch revealed the time to be just gone eight thirty. A steaming mug of tea sat on the bedside table, along with a gaily wrapped gift. Harry picked it up with interest, and a smile lit his face as he read the tiny script that graced the tag, “Wishing Master Harry a very Happy Christmas, from Festus.” Carefully Harry unwrapped the gift, thankful that he had had the forethought to purchase a present for his little house-elf. Inside the paper was a little box, which when opened revealed a cunningly wrought cloak pin decorated with a silver pine cone. Harry was charmed by it and couldn’t wait to thank Festus for his kind gift.

Placing it back on the bed-side table, Harry reached for his cup of tea, the thought that often occurred to him running through his mind as he sipped at its heat: how did Festus know when he was going to wake up? Or did the house-elf put some sort of heating charm on the drink? In no hurry to get up and begin a day without Lucius, Harry sat back against his pillows, the quilt up to his chin, cradling his cup of tea.

He wondered what Lucius was doing now? Would he be up? Would he and Draco be swapping gifts, enjoying each other’s company, laughing together, looking forward to spending Christmas Day….

Harry forced himself to stop; these thoughts were only making him miserable and resentful towards Draco. He was ashamed that he couldn’t summon up more charity towards Draco, after all that Lucius’ son had been through. Determinedly he turned his mind to other matters.

Raif. Harry smiled as he thought back to the night before.

Knowing now what he did about Raif, Harry had thought that his attitude towards the man might have changed. But Raif was so unassuming, so relaxed, such good company that Harry felt completely at ease in his presence. It was hard to remember just who Yed Prior was, just how much power the man had. 

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

As if summoned by Harry’s thoughts, Raif’s head popped round the door. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“Merry Christmas. Come in.”

Raif came in, shutting the door behind him. He glanced towards the fireplace and with a wave of his hand, the smouldering coals flared up. “You’ve not opened your stocking.”

Harry’s eyes shot to the mantelpiece, where he now noticed a sock hanging, bulging with all sorts of interesting shapes. He scrambled out of bed, dragging his dressing gown on as he hurried towards the fire. He took down the stocking with wonder in his eyes, then he glanced at Raif. “Did you…?”

Raif shook his head and tutted. “Harry, Harry, how could you even think it might have been me? This is Christmas Day, and you did say you’d been a good boy; I imagine St Nick must have been here whilst you slept.” He smiled and seated himself in one of the armchairs. 

A ringing of bells heralded the arrival of Festus with another cup of tea that he placed by Raif. 

Harry reached for the gift he had bought for the house-elf. “Festus, this is for you. Thank you very much for my gift,” he added, “it really is lovely. I shall very much enjoy wearing it.”

Festus beamed with happiness, and his eyes gleamed as he took the present that Harry presented to him. “It was Festus’ pleasure, Master Harry.” His nimble little fingers soon had the wrapping paper off his own gift, and he gave a cry of delight at what was revealed. “Oh, Master Harry, oh.” For a moment Harry thought the little house-elf was going to cry; moisture welled up in the great green eyes and Festus’ bottom lip began to tremble. Then he managed to control himself. “Oh, Master Harry, thank you, thank you.”

With a beam of pure pleasure, Festus disappeared with another ringing of bells.

“Well, that’s one happy house-elf,” Raif remarked. 

Harry grinned, seated himself in the other armchair, and began delving into the top of his stocking.

It contained nuts and tangerines, a comb, a large white and navy spotted handkerchief; all small things but they delighted Harry nevertheless. He glanced once more at Raif. “Are you sure you didn’t…” he began.

Raif once more shook his head. “No, it was not I, although, if you are determined to spoil the surprise…”

Harry stopped him. “No, no, of course not. Don’t tell me.”

Raif stretched out a booted foot. “So,” he began, “and what did Lucius present to you for Christmas?”

Before Harry could answer, Festus popped back into the room. “The Master wishes me to ask if you will be coming down soon, Master Harry, Sir Raif…only they is all waiting for you.”

“Waiting for us?” Harry queried.

“Ah, the traditional Christmas Breakfast. My fault I’m afraid, Harry. Vlad did ask  
me to let you know that breakfast will begin at nine o’clock. It quite slipped my mind, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be as quick as I can. You go down, I’ll catch you up.”

Harry rushed through his ablutions and dragged his clothes on; by the time he made it downstairs it was just gone nine fifteen.

A sumptuous breakfast was laid out on the large table in front of the fire, which was blazing merrily in the great stone fireplace. As soon as he had taken his seat, between Vlad and Raif, the meal began. 

It was a jolly affair which lasted for a good two hours, by which time Harry was pleasantly full and disinclined to move. But Raif ordered them all to move back from the table and, with a wave of his hand, transfigured the table and chairs into comfortable, softly upholstered sofas, into which the stuffed staff sank gratefully, stretching out their feet to the warm fire. Little tables appeared between the seats on which to stand glasses of the spiced wine that had been served with breakfast, or for cups of tea and coffee.

Vlad let out a loud, contented sigh. “Now, presents!”

Upon his words house-elves appeared, and now Harry could see that beneath one of the large Christmas trees were piles of brightly wrapped gifts. He knew a sudden moment of embarrassment, thinking that perhaps he should have bought presents for all the staff, but it soon became clear that the gifts were from people not present at the gathering: family members, friends and the like. 

And then Harry’s embarrassment turned to sadness, knowing that those who in previous years had given him gifts, were no longer his friends. It was with some astonishment then that he viewed the gift that was dropped into his lap. He checked the label to make sure it hadn’t been mis-delivered. 

“To Harry. Happy Christmas, mate. Ron.” Tears pricked Harry’s eyes. He had of course sent gifts to all the Weasleys and to Remus and several of his other erstwhile friends, but he had expected nothing in return. The package was soon joined by several more and happiness welled up in Harry as he noticed the names on the labels: Molly & Arthur, Remus…all his friends. All the day needed to make it perfect was his lover by his side, but so great was Harry’s joy that his friends had not forgotten him, that even that failed to dim his enjoyment of day.

With fingers that trembled just slightly, Harry unwrapped his gifts. Ron had sent him a new broomstick maintenance kit. Molly had knitted him a long scarf with a hat to match, all in the softest dark green wool. He stroked the knitted length, memories taking him back to that first Christmas at Hogwarts. Then, just as now, he had expected no gifts, and now, just as then, he had been pleasantly surprised by the kindness of others. 

Around him came the cheerful babble of the other teachers as they opened and exclaimed over their own gifts. And Harry settled into his armchair with a sigh of pleasure. 

A further gift was dropped into his lap, and Harry gazed up as Raif smiled down at him. “Just a little something, Harry. Happy Christmas.”

“Oh but, Raif, I’m sorry, I’ve nothing…I didn’t know….” Harry trailed off into embarrassed silence.

Raif grinned as he sank into the chair by Harry’s side. “I didn’t give you a gift expecting one in return, Harry. Besides, what better gift could I have than this?” Raif indicated the circle of chatting teachers, the warm fire, the decorations that decked the dining hall. “There is a lot to be said for having friends to share this season of good will with, Harry.”

“That’s very true, Harry,” Vlad remarked from Harry’s other side.

Harry smiled and began to unwrap the present that Raif had given him. It contained a small crystal bottle, stoppered with what appeared to be an opal. The liquid inside it seemed to glow like moonlight and swirled within the vial. Harry held it up to the light. “It’s beautiful, Raif.” He turned it to watch the light play on the twisting fluid.

“That, Harry, is a mouthful of hope.”

Harry turned to Raif, a question in his eyes. “A mouthful of hope?” he repeated.

“When life seems truly black, and things desperate and beyond your control, then take a mouthful of that…it will bring light into the darkest place.” 

Harry turned his attention back to the little bottle. “Thank you, Raif. For both my gift, and for coming to spend the day with me, it’s very kind of you and I do appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.” Raif smiled at Harry and then turned to speak to Madame Venitia who was seated on his left.

“Keep it close, Harry,” Vlad whispered once Raif’s back was turned. “Raif rarely gives a gift that will not be of some future use. And that,” he indicated the little bottle, “is a precious gift indeed. May I?” 

Harry passed the little bottle over.

“Ah, as I thought. See? Here on the neck? There are two small loops. This bottle may be hung on a chain. Do you have one that will do?”

Harry frowned. “I think so. But do you really think I need to keep it that close to me? All the time?”

Vlad passed the little vial back, his expression grave. “I do, Harry. As I said, it is rare for Raif to give a gift that will not be needed.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Harry said slowly. “The most desperate I want life to be is suddenly to remember that I’ve forgotten to prepare a lesson. I’d kind of hoped that ‘beyond my control’ and ‘desperate’ were in the past for me.”

From his left Raif spoke. “I only see through the veils of time, Harry. And rarely clearly. But it is as well to be prepared.”

His words reminded Harry of what he knew about Raif, and the significance of the little bottle grew. He tucked it into a pocket and determined to find a strong chain for it at the first possible moment.

“So, Harry,” Vlad said cheerfully, breaking the sombre mood, “what did Lucius give you for Christmas? I’m presuming he gave you his gift before he left?”

“He gave me a beautiful moonstone pendant,” Harry answered, suddenly realising that he had neglected to put it on in his rush to get ready that morning. “Oh, and he promised to take me away for a weekend.”

“Oh, where?” Madame Venitia demanded.

“Cor, Cardo…”

“Cardavia?” Vlad supplied.

“Yes, that’s it. He said we could go before the children return.”

“Oooo, you lucky thing, Harry,” Venitia cooed. “Cardavia is such a romantic city, a real lovers’ place.”

“Just make sure you keep that new scarf wrapped tightly around that pretty throat of yours,” Vlad laughed.

“Why?” Harry queried.

“Because Cardavia, as well as being the Capital of Romance, also happens to be the unofficial Capital City of the vampires. Their most prominent families live there,” Vlad went on, oblivious to the sudden tension that had tautened Harry’s body. “They hold their counsels there, in the great Hardanger Palace. You are a frequent visitor there, are you not, Raif?”

The conversation flowed over Harry’s head as the cold feeling pooled in his stomach. So, Lucius had not had a romantic weekend with Harry at the forefront of his mind when deciding to visit Cardavia, he had been thinking of the bloody book and had simply used the city’s reputation as a cover for the real purpose behind his visit. Harry didn’t know whether to be angry or sad. 

“Harry? Harry? Are you all right?”

Vlad’s voice brought Harry back to his surroundings. “What? Oh, yes. I’m fine,” he said shortly.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Raif queried.

And Harry knew that Raif was well aware that he was upset. “Yes, only…is it safe?” he asked, to cover the real reason for his distraction.

“Safe?” Vlad queried. “Oh, I see.” He laughed. “It was only a joke about your neck, Harry, really. Contrary to those horror stories you were brought up on, vampires don’t really go around pouncing on people, and turning up in your bedroom at the dead of night all swirly capes and pointy teeth, like a Muggle horror movie…although they do have pointy teeth of course.”

“Vampires usually feed on those who offer themselves,” Raif put in from Harry’s other side.

Harry turned to him, confusion on his face. “Offer themselves?” he asked.

“A vampire is well able to tell how much blood he can take before either draining the body or turning the person concerned.”

“But people offer themselves?” Harry repeated incredulously

“A vampire can make it a very, ah, pleasurable experience,” Raif said carefully

“Like the best sex you have ever had,” Vlad said more bluntly. “Only with no actual sex—well, not all the time. There are many who consider it an honour to be chosen to feed a vampire.”

“It really is perfectly safe in Cardavia, Harry,” Raif said reassuringly. “The majority of vampires would consider it very rude indeed to take from someone not prepared to offer freely.”

“But what about the minority?” Harry fretted. 

Raif laughed. “Honestly, Harry, stop worrying. You and Lucius will have a lovely time; it truly is a wonderful, romantic city, full of beautiful architecture, fine restaurants, quaint little alleyways lined with all sorts of curious shops.”

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to hear the wistful note in Raif’s voice. But Vlad did not, and he shot a sympathetic look at Raif. Raif shook his head, smiled a tight, sad smile, then turned to the assembled crowd and proposed a game of charades.

 

****

****

Harry was curled up in one of the armchairs, fast asleep, when Lucius returned late that night. Thus he missed the sight of Lucius and Raif embracing, and only woke when the green flames of Raif’s departure were dying down in the grate.

He struggled sleepily upright, a wide smile stretched over his face. “You’re back,” he said delightedly. 

Lucius hauled Harry upright and enveloped him in a tight hug, his mouth seeking Harry’s for a long, deep kiss.

“I missed you, little one,” he said, on releasing Harry.

“I missed you too,” Harry replied sincerely.

All day on and off Harry had been turning over the question of what to do about the proposed visit to Cardavia. At first he had been inclined to confront Lucius with his new knowledge, as soon as Lucius returned, but in the end Harry had decided that the last thing he should do was to start an argument with his lover on Christmas Day. Thus it was that he allowed himself to be led upstairs to Lucius’ rooms without a murmur of what was on his mind, and once there, Lucius saw to it that there was no room for anything else in Harry’s mind but pleasure.

Lucius stripped him slowly and sensuously, taking time over each and every button and fastening on Harry’s clothes, until Harry stood naked before him, his skin glowing golden in the light from the fire that burned in the bedroom grate.

Lucius’ fingertips glided over Harry’s skin, lingering on the places he knew gave Harry the most pleasure: nipples, collarbone, the soft skin below his ears, naval, his cock and his balls and further, reaching between Harry’s parted thighs to trace around the puckered entrance to his body, his lips on Harry’s, tongue reacquainting itself with every nook in Harry’s mouth.

Harry arched into the touches, his breath becoming ragged as desire grew within him. Finally he was reduced to begging, knowing that Lucius could tease him like this for ages. “Please,” he gasped. “Need you, now.”

Lucius stepped back and, with a smile, quickly divested himself of his own clothing as Harry sprawled onto the big bed, looking up at Lucius with wanton invitation.

Then Lucius was on his young lover, his heavier weight pressing Harry into the soft covers, pinning him immobile beneath his hard body. Cock to cock they rocked together: now that they were both naked the urgency seemed to have left them and they moved slowly and surely, both confident in their knowledge of the steps of this particular dance.

Harry gazed up at Lucius, his eyes locked on the intense grey eyes of his lover, loving the way that Lucius’ long blonde hair framed the aristocratic face. One of Harry’s greatest pleasures was to watch that haughty look dissolve in passion as Lucius came, and this night was no exception.

Harry felt the spell stretch and lubricate him and moved to wrap his legs around Lucius’ broad back, presenting himself to his lover’s cock—which speared into him in one long thrust. They stilled, holding onto each other tightly for a long moment before Lucius began to move. Deep, powerful thrusts that pierced Harry to the core of his being, and swept over that sweet spot inside him with every impulse.

Harry moved to meet the strokes, his breath coming in gasps as his climax drew near, until, with one final surge, he reached the brink and toppled over, feeling Lucius’ own attainment shoot deep inside him.

They lay in sweaty, satisfied silence until Lucius final withdrew from Harry’s body and rolled to his side. “Perhaps I should go away more often,” he panted.


	6. Cardavia

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

Cardavia

By mid-morning the following day, Harry was beginning to wish he had voiced his concerns the night before over the real reason for Lucius’ offer of a weekend in Cardavia. Somehow there just didn’t seem to be an opportunity to bring the subject up.

They had awoken late, twined around each other in an unexpected patch of sunshine, and Lucius had made love to Harry with a tenderness that took Harry’s breath away. Breakfast had turned into lunch by the time they had finished the meal, and then Lucius had declared that they should take advantage of the good weather and get some fresh air. 

They had ventured out of the castle, over the great drawbridge, but had found the snow to be so deep that they were in danger of being swamped by it. The air was still bitingly cold and they soon returned indoors to toast by the fire in the great hall, where several of the other teachers were gathered.

Conversation was desultory, a lassitude falling over those assembled, and Harry was soon dozing in one of the sofas, cuddled into Lucius’ side as the older man read. Everything was so peaceful that Harry just couldn’t bring himself to speak of his concerns. But as the afternoon drew on, and the other teachers drifted away, Harry forced himself to sit up.

Taking a deep breath, he began, “Lucius?”

“Hmm?”

“About Cardavia...”

“Don’t worry, I have not forgotten.”

“No. Erm, it wasn’t _that_ I was worried about.”

Lucius placed a marker in his book, and gave Harry his full attention. “But you are worried about something?” 

Harry noticed the tension suddenly appear around Lucius’ mouth, and his own mouth went dry. He nodded miserably. “Cardavia is not just a romantic city, is it?”

Lucius was perfectly still by his side. “What do you mean, Harry?”

“It’s the vampires’ capital city as well.”

“And?” 

You could have cut the air with a knife.

“So,” Harry forced himself to say. “That’s the real reason you want to go, isn’t it?”

Lucius stared at him. When he finally spoke there was an icy edge to his words. “I see. You think that I have no concern about doing something to make you happy? Only something to satisfy my own needs?”

Harry raised his eyes to meet the grey ones staring intently at him. “Can you honestly say that you had no thoughts about going after the book when you suggested the trip?”

The grey eyes shifted slightly, and Harry felt a sinking feeling of misery.

When Lucius answered, the chill had gone from his voice. “No, Harry. I can’t honestly say that. But in my defence, I will say that had I had no thoughts about your happiness, I wouldn’t have bothered to suggest you accompany me.” He paused, and then continued. “I’m sorry, Harry. You’re right, it was wrong of me to deceive you. But it will only take a little of our time to ascertain if the book is there...the rest of the time we can do just as you please. And Cardavia truly is a beautiful, romantic place.”

Harry tried to contain his sadness; after all, Lucius had given him a lovely pendant as well for Christmas, but it was not so much that Lucius had an ulterior motive for offering Harry a romantic weekend in Cardavia, but that he had deceived Harry over it. He stared at his feet.

“Harry?” Lucius’ long fingers slipped around Harry’s chin and brought his face around until he was looking into Lucius’ eyes. “What can I do to make this right between us?”

Harry swallowed hard, blinked away the tears that suddenly misted his eyes, and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “It’s not...it’s not that you’re using the trip as an excuse to look for the book,” he went on, “but that you didn’t tell me.” He looked sadly at Lucius. “I can take a lot from you, Lucius, but dishonesty is not one of them. I need to know I can trust you to tell me things, not keep things from me. If I can’t do that, I don’t know if we have a relationship I want to continue with.” 

It was probably the hardest thing that Harry had ever had to say; even as the words fell from his lips a voice in the back of his mind was screaming, ‘No! I can’t lose him, I love him,’ but Harry also knew that he had to make a stand, had to let Lucius know that he wouldn’t be walked on.

“Oh, Harry, don’t say that. I’m sorry; I promise I will never lie to you again. Don’t let my foolishness split us up.”

Harry searched Lucius’ face for the veracity behind the words—and found it in the distress in the grey eyes, in the pinched mouth, in the sudden lines on the previously smooth skin. “You promise? You truly promise you will never lie to me...or not tell me the truth, again?”

Lucius nodded quickly. “I promise. Oh, Harry, please believe me, I never meant to hurt you over this. I really did think we would have a lovely time.”

Harry gave a watery smile. “So, when do we go, then?”

Lucius looked stunned. “You mean…you mean you still want to go?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Although I think you should leave well alone. Severus told me I should stop you from going.”

“Severus said a deal too much,” Lucius snapped. “It’s not as if I’m planning on marching up to Baptiste’s front door and demanding that he hand over the book.”

“What _are_ you planning to do, then?”

Lucius looked evasive.

“Lucius!” Harry said warningly.

“Oh, just make a few discrete enquiries here and there.”

“But what will that achieve?” Harry asked. “We are already pretty sure the book is with the vampires, and that they will know its worth. Surely they will keep it safe? After all, who is going to be brave enough to do what you said? March up to their front door? Or try to steal it from them?”

Lucius looked grave. “You have still not grasped just how important that book is, have you, Harry? A man would go to great lengths to get his hands on such a thing of power.”

“But you said there are very few people who would recognise how powerful it might be?”

“It only takes one man, Harry, just one.”

“And you really think that someone would risk that much for it?”

“Harry, we know from the fact that the book Dumbledore owned has been stolen, that someone is on the trail. If they get hold of that book before we do...” He left the sentence unfinished.

Harry sighed. “Okay, we’ll make your ‘few discreet enquiries’, but if we find that the book is still safe with the vampires, we leave it there, okay?”

Lucius bit his lip, and then shook his head. “No, Harry. I’m afraid I can’t agree to that. I will do my best to get hold of that book, but...”

“But nothing,” Harry blazed. “What makes you think the book will be any safer with you? In fact, it will probably be less so. Please, can’t you just leave it with the vampires? Surely they are better able to protect it than you? And it might even be better if all the books _are_ split up, that way it will be that much harder to get them together. Better still, if what you say is right, if these books really are so powerful, maybe it would be better if they were destroyed.”

Lucius recoiled as if Harry had hit him. “Destroyed? Are you mad? For one thing, I very much doubt there is a power than _can_ destroy them—unless Raif might be able to—but…but no; to destroy such things would be a sacrilege, not to be countenanced.”

“I don’t see why,” Harry argued. “It seems to me that their time has gone, that they are of the old magic, the wild magic that now sleeps. Not of or for this time.”

“To destroy such knowledge would be wrong, Harry. And there is no telling that the old magic may not waken, and the books our only way of learning it all over again.”

Harry heaved a deep breath and conceded defeat. “Okay. I know you know more about this than me. But I’m not happy about it, Lucius.”

Lucius relaxed at his side. “Don’t worry, Harry. I would never do anything I thought might endanger you.”

 

****

****

They saw the New Year in, and then on the first of January Harry and Lucius departed for Cardavia.

They Flooed to Bucharest and then to Cardavia—or rather, as Lucius explained, to a Floo Connection outside the city, as there was no actual connection within the city itself.

They arrived in a terminal building that looked on the inside much like many others, but when they stepped outside, Harry caught his breath.

He had expected to be surrounded by towering peaks, aware as he was that Cardavia was high in the mountains, but this wasn’t the case. They were on a flat plateau that seemed to be floating in the sky. The only thing that broke up the skyline was the city itself. Harry stood stock still and gaped.

The Floo Connection building was set by the side of a frozen lake, on the other side of which was Cardavia. High white walls surrounded the city and soaring towers reflected the sunshine like spears of light. Everywhere gold gleamed in the icy air. The whole city seemed to glitter like a giant diamond. In the centre of the city, a hill rose above the rooftops, and on its summit stood a great, cathedral-like structure with a spire that rose like a pointing finger to the heavens above.

Over all spanned a startlingly blue sky, and Harry suddenly felt as if he were inside a giant snow globe, and that at any minute a huge hand would shake the world, the deep snow that blanketed the plateau would swirl up into the air, and then cascade down again.

Harry stared at the spectacle, open-mouthed in wonder. Lucius moved to stand by his side. “It is rather impressive, isn’t it?” he remarked.

Harry struggled to find his voice. “It’s…Merlin, Lucius, it’s incredible. It’s absolutely beautiful. You’ve been here before?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Lucius nodded, but, to Harry’s relief, didn’t elaborate. Whilst he was naturally aware that Lucius had not only been married, but had probably had many lovers, Harry was happy for him to keep that part of his life hidden.

Across the lake a track had been marked out by black painted boulders, and along its length were dotted horse-drawn carriages, ferrying passengers to and from the Floo. Lucius had already arranged for their luggage to be stowed on one of the carriages waiting by the Floo, and now he and Harry clambered aboard and settled themselves under the thick furs that were provided for their comfort. Harry snuggled himself closer to Lucius’ warmth, and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Furs,” Lucius said succinctly.

“Hmm?”

“Furs; we must get you a proper fur cloak,” Lucius glanced down at Harry, his eyes alight with merriment. “We can’t have you freezing your _assets_ , now can we?”

Harry giggled. “No, certainly not.”

“And they certainly _will_ freeze up here if you are not careful. I should have thought before we departed, still, it will give us something to shop for.”

The horse stepped out across the covered lake, its hooves kicking up clouds of powdery snow. It tossed its head, making the bells that adorned its harness ring out in the still air. Harry had never imagined there could be such a lovely place as this. He turned to look up at Lucius. “Thank you for bringing me, Lucius.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry. I just hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, I shall,” Harry said with feeling, secure in the knowledge that nothing could spoil his enjoyment of such a wondrous place.

They entered the city through a high, wide gateway that was flanked by two towers. Massive metal doors had been propped open, and Lucius explained that at dawn each day they were opened, and then shut again at dusk. “And woe betides anyone stuck outside after the gates have closed, for they will not open for anyone.”

The streets that wound between the buildings were cobbled, and swept free of snow. On either side beautiful buildings soared up, their gables carved and decorated. Every now and again they came to open places where street vendors shouted their wares to the multitude of fur-swathed people who thronged the busy city, and there were pavement cafes, heated by great braziers. The smell of coffee and mulled wine scented the air, mingled with the smell of roasting chestnuts.

Harry could hardly contain his excitement. “Is it a completely magic city?” he asked.

Lucius nodded. “Indeed. It is shielded from Muggles by many spells and enchantments.”

“Like Durmstrang and Hogwarts?”

“Yes, although on a rather grander scale.”

They passed countless little shops that Harry itched to explore: sellers of all manner of magical items; purveyors of clothing, including rich, thick furs; curiosity shops; shops selling souvenirs; shops catering to the romantically inclined.

They turned off what appeared to be the main street through the city, and entered a quieter side street. Here the carriage pulled up outside a small hotel. The driver jumped down and unloaded the luggage from the back of the carriage. Lucius alighted, turned to offer his hand to Harry, and then led the way into the building. 

Having paid the driver and tipped him accordingly, Lucius and Harry approached the reception desk. They were greeted by a cheerful dark-haired woman.

“Ah, you must be Mister Malfoy and guest?”

“Indeed,” Lucius answered. “Lucius Malfoy and Harry Potter.”

The woman shot a quick, searching look at Harry, and then busied herself with her register.

“If you will both just sign here?” She indicated a space on the page with the tip of a long, brilliantly coloured quill.

They both complied, Lucius with his usual flamboyant signature and Harry with his rather smaller, neater one. 

The woman snapped her fingers and a gangling youth appeared from out of a door behind the counter.

“Rex? Please arrange for these bags to be taken up to suite three. Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, if you will be kind enough to follow me, I will show you to your suite.”

The corridors in the hotel were quite narrow and dark, but the rooms the woman showed them to were spacious and well appointed. Decorated in creams, golds and browns, they appeared warm and welcoming. A fire crackled in a carved fireplace, adding to the general ambience. “Our best suite, as you requested, Mister Malfoy.”

There was a small sitting room, beyond which Harry could see a bedroom—with one very large bed. He blushed. Whilst he was becoming more used to the fact that the Wizarding world did not have any prejudices about same sex relationships, it was still rather new to him, and such blatant displays of that acceptance made him hot with embarrassment. 

Lucius suffered no such qualms. He strolled into the bedroom and tested the mattress with one hand. “Hmm, suitably firm. Good. Yes, these will do nicely.”

“There is a bathroom just here.” The woman indicated a door to one side of the bedroom.

Harry poked his nose around the door—and bit back a gasp of amazement. The room contained a huge sunken bath that would easily accommodate both himself and Lucius, not to mention any guests they might choose to invite.

Lucius came to peer over his shoulder. He smirked, and then breathed, “Later,” in Harry’s ear.

Tingling with anticipation, Harry tried to affect nonchalance as the woman bid them call her should they require anything, and allocated them the services of a hotel-elf for the duration of their stay.

 

****

****

Having tried out all the facilities, especially the bed, Harry and Lucius set off later in the afternoon to do some shopping. Their first port of call was a furrier, where Lucius insisted on treating Harry to a sumptuous deep-brown coloured fur cloak. It was a soft as silk and beautifully warm, but Harry had to quell a pang of regret for the poor animal that had been robbed of its life to make it. Still, it was the only practical solution to combat the freezing temperatures.

From there—Harry now wrapped in his new cloak—they set off to explore the city. Apart from the Floo carriages, there was no other transport in the city except for the very occasional sedan chair, which Lucius explained contained either the infirm, or a vampire whose business forced him to venture forth in daylight hours. Although some of the more affluent families had carriages in case of very bad weather.

After hearing this bit of information, Harry kept an interested eye open for the black lacquered palanquins, and conjectured on their occupants. Despite having reservations about the whole book search aspect of this trip, Harry had to admit that he had become rather intrigued about the vampires who resided in Cardavia. Little did he know he was about to have his curiosity well and truly satisfied.

He and Lucius had just seated themselves at one of the many open air cafes when a sombrely dressed figure approached them. “Mister Potter?” he queried.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I’m Harry Potter.”

“I have a message for you,” the man explained, then handed Harry a cream envelope that had his name inscribed on the front in beautiful copperplate handwriting.

Harry looked at the envelope in amazement. “For me?” he asked stupidly.

“If you please.”

With a bemused expression, Harry tore open the envelope and withdrew the sheet of thick paper it contained. His eyes flicked over the lines, and his mouth fell open.

“What is it?” Lucius demanded.

“An invitation,” Harry said in amazement.

“Let me see.” Lucius twitched the letter from Harry’s unresisting fingers. “Well, well, well,” he commented. “Your fame has reached even here, it seems. An invitation to dine with His Excellency, Raoul Aristide and his family, this evening at eight p.m. We are honoured indeed.” He passed the invitation back to Harry, then turned to the servant who had delivered the missive. “Please tell your master that Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy are honoured by his invitation and would be delighted to accept.”

The man bowed. “Very good, Sir.” With that he turned away and disappeared back into the crowd.

Harry turned to Lucius with annoyance. “If you don’t mind, that invitation was addressed to me—it might have been nice if you’d given me the opportunity to decide if I wanted to go or not.”

Lucius regarded him with raised eyebrows. “My dear Harry, one does not decline an invitation from the second most prominent vampire in Cardavia, not if one wishes to enjoy the rest of one’s stay in said city.”

“But why does he want to see me?” Harry groused, visions of a romantic tête-à-tête evening meal with Lucius disappearing into the distance, to be replaced by an evening of stark formality, and being on his best behaviour.

“I would imagine he wants to meet the Wizarding world’s hero.”

Harry glowered into his glass of mulled wine.

“I do hope you don’t intend to spend the rest of the day sulking in that very childish fashion,” Lucius commented infuriatingly.

“It’s all right for you,” Harry snapped. “You’ve got just what you wanted...you bastard,” he added in a vicious undertone. “You set the whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“I most certainly did not,” Lucius snarled back. 

“Yeah? You made damn certain that woman at the hotel knew who I was.”

“What?” Lucius demanded. “I merely supplied your name to comply with the customs here. You know, Harry, you are always so quick to believe the worst of me. Always ready to believe I have ulterior motives for my actions towards you. Well, I’ve had enough! Had enough of failing—no matter how hard I try—to live up to your unreal expectations. You don’t trust me…and you never will. And do you know what a relationship without trust is?” Without giving Harry time to speak, Lucius supplied the answer, “No relationship at all. As you seem to believe me to be such a devious, underhanded person, I will relieve you of my presence.” With that he surged to his feet, and before Harry had time to remonstrate, Lucius disappeared into the press of people.

Harry sat, numb and shocked, while around him—unknowing and uncaring of his plight—couples laughed and loved. For a while anger was his primary emotion, but it gradually gave way to misery, and a fear that Lucius really wasn’t going to come back with an apology on his lips. And why should he? Harry asked himself. Having been falsely accused of lying himself, Harry remembered just how horrible it felt. How angry it made one feel. How he had felt as if the whole world thought him a liar and an attention seeker. How nothing he could say would make them think otherwise. No, Lucius was not going to come back; he was probably back at the hotel packing his bags even now.

That thought sent Harry flying to his feet. Scattering a few coins on the table to pay for the mulled wine they had ordered, he set off at a run, oblivious of the stares and the comments that followed him, hoping desperately that Lucius would still be at the hotel.

He was. Harry closed the door to their room and leant against it. Lucius paid him no attention, simply continuing to pack his clothes into his bag.

Harry knew that he had one chance, and once chance only. If Lucius left, then it would be the end of their relationship. “Lucius? I’m sorry.”

Nothing. Not even a flicker to show that Lucius had actually heard him.

Harry took a step into the room. “I was wrong…it was wrong of me to accuse you. I’m sorry. Lucius, please. I made a mistake.”

Now Lucius did speak, his voice low and vicious, “Which, it seems, you alone are permitted to make, whilst the rest of us must strive for perfection in your eyes, and always come up wanting.”

“I don’t expect perfection, only honesty.”

“Something you obviously feel I am incapable of,” Lucius snapped.

“I don’t think that at all.”

“No? Then why must you always question me? Why must you always think the worst of me? I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t go on like this.” Lucius slammed shut the lid of his suitcase and clicked his fingers to summon the hotel-elf. “Take my bag down,” he instructed the small creature when it arrived.

“No!” Harry countermanded, leaving the elf stood, indecisive, looking miserably from one to the other.

“Please, Lucius,” Harry begged. “Just let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t feel we have anything to talk about, Harry.”

“So that’s it?” Harry felt as if the air was being squeezed from his body, and the walls of the room began to blur. A cold, dread feeling took up residence in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t love me any more?” Harry forced himself to ask, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“The fact that I love you seems to be immaterial when weighed against my perceived multitudinous faults.”

Harry felt a faint stirring of hope. Lucius hadn’t denied that he loved Harry. Emboldened by this fact, Harry crossed the room to stand at Lucius’ side. The eyes he looked up into were a stormy grey, but the hardness had gone from them.

“Your love for me has been the most important thing in my life,” he said quietly.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Harry placed a hand on Lucius’ arm. “Please, Lucius. Give me another chance.”

Lucius let out a deep breath. “I can’t go on trying to prove myself to you, Harry. You either have to accept me as I am, or find someone you _can_ accept.” 

“I accept you—the man I love with all my heart. I don’t want anyone else, I want you. I _need_ you, Lucius.” Harry dropped his forehead onto Lucius’ shoulder. The sudden familiar warmth and scent of Lucius went straight to Harry’s core; he took one long, shuddering breath, and fought desperately to keep the threatening tears from falling.

Strong arms came around him, and a hand stroked through his hair. “We need to talk more about all this, Harry. But not here, and not right now.”

Harry pressed tighter to Lucius and nodded, winding his arms around Lucius’ broad back and pulling him even tighter against his body.

Gently Lucius eased them to the bed, and lay down on it, cuddling Harry to his side and soothing him with soft words. As the tension drained from Harry’s body, his eyes slipped shut and he drifted into sleep.

The little hotel-elf took the opportunity to slip quietly away, leaving Lucius’ bag where it was.

When Harry awoke, the hotel room was dark, and he was alone in the big bed. For one horrible moment he thought that Lucius had gone and left him after all, but then the faint sound of running water drifted from the bathroom. 

His relief shocked him, and Harry sat up in bed, clutched his knees to his chest, and stared into the darkness. Nearly losing Lucius had brought it home to him just how much he loved the man, just how much he needed him, and that dependence frightened him.

The bathroom door opened, and Lucius strode into the room, a black silk dressing gown clinging in places to his still damp skin. He waved a hand to light a candle on the bedside table, and then came to a sudden halt at the sight of the figure on the bed. “Harry?”

Harry turned his face up to Lucius. “I’m scared,” he said hoarsely.

Lucius frowned, and then seated himself next to Harry on the bed. “Why? Whatever of?” he queried.

“Of you,” Harry said simply. “Of me, us…how much I need you.”

“Do you think I don’t need you every bit as much?”

Harry looked at the floor. “You were going to leave me,” he whispered.

Lucius put an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “But I didn’t, did I?”

“But you could have done,” Harry persisted. “I could never walk out on you, but you were going to walk out on me.”

“I seem to remember, not too many days ago, that it was _you_ who were saying you weren’t sure we had a relationship you wanted to continue with,” Lucius said carefully.

Harry remembered, and then wondered how he had ever thought he could leave Lucius. Before he could say anything, Lucius went on. 

“Harry? You’ll allow that I have rather more experience than you in the matter of relationships?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, believe me, there usually comes a time, just like this, in all relationships that really mean something; one partner starts to think they need the other more than they are needed in return.”

Harry continued to stare at the floor.

“Oh, dear.” Lucius sighed. “This is my fault; I should have been more patient with you, more understanding. We’ve not had it easy, you and I, have we? We didn’t have what one might consider a conventional start to our relationship—and then you have had to run the gamut of the disapproval of your friends and those who care for you. Harry, I can’t guarantee that we will stay together for ever, but I can assure that I do want our relationship to last, if at all possible. I think that even if we do have our occasional fall-outs, there is enough love between us to bring us back together.”

“I’m just not sure I could cope if you left me—and that scares me. It scares me how much I need you…” Harry trailed off.

“And you wonder whether it would be better in the long run if our relationship were to end now? If _you_ were to end it now?”

Harry hadn’t been aware of consciously thinking this, but as Lucius put it into words, he realised that indeed he had: deep down inside he had wondered if it would be less painful if he were the one to finish it, rather than wait for Lucius to walk away from him. He bit his lip.

Lucius tightened his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I know you are not a coward, Harry. And I know you are a lot stronger than this. Don’t end something just because you are afraid of what might happen in the future. Enjoy the time we have now.”

Lucius’ voice was so very calm and reasonable, that Harry finally felt some of the tension leave his body. He took a deep breath and looked up at his lover. “I know you’re right. I suppose it is silly to worry about something that only _might_ happen. And I guess it’s time I put my money where my mouth is,” he went on.

Lucius frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m always telling everyone that they should give you a second chance, that you’ve changed—and here I am, doubting what you tell me, accusing you of lying to me, I’m not setting a very good example, am I? From now on I’m going to trust you...properly trust you, not just say that I do.”

Lucius smiled. “Thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me, especially considering our past.” He leant down and gently kissed Harry.

Harry relaxed into the warm embrace, and opened his mouth to the tongue that demanded entrance. He slid his hand beneath the silk robe that Lucius wore and stroked over the skin beneath. Lucius lowered him back onto the bed, never breaking the kiss, his hands reaching to undo the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Lucius advised.

Harry was in full agreement, until he remembered the invitation that had started all this trouble. He sat bolt upright. “Oh, Merlin!” He glanced at his watch—and was relieved to discover that it was only seven p.m. But he nevertheless got up and went to answer the door.

The same messenger who had approached them earlier was waiting outside; he handed Harry a note with a small bow. Lucius had re-tied the cord on his dressing gown, and come to stand at Harry’s shoulder. Harry opened the note and scanned the contents quickly. “It says that because of the bad weather, Mister Aristide has arranged for a carriage to collect us at seven forty-five,” he informed Lucius. He turned back to the messenger. “Tell your master that we are grateful for his kindness and look forward to seeing him later.” The man bowed again and strode silently away.

Lucius pushed the door closed. “We don’t have to go.”

“I want to go,” Harry stated firmly. “I have to admit that I’m quite intrigued now about these vampires...I think I’m going to wear something with a high collar, though, just in case.”


	7. The Vampires

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

The Vampires

They were both ready and waiting in the hotel reception by the time the carriage came to pick them up. Harry was glad that it had: outside the snow was a driving mass of white. They hurried out, and clambered into the enclosed carriage, the door was shut firmly behind them by the coachman, and they settled into the luxurious interior of their transport.

Harry gazed about him with interest. A globe of light hung in the centre of the carriage, casting a warm glow over the deep-red velvet upholstered seats. Thick fur rugs had been provided for their comfort, and Harry nestled beneath them with a sigh of satisfaction. 

Lucius reached forward and unlatched a small cupboard below the seat in front of them. “Ah, as I thought.” He withdrew a silver flask and two silver goblets. The wine he poured out steamed fragrantly.

“Should we?” Harry asked.

“It would be rude not to,” Lucius reassured him. “The wine has been provided for us.” 

He passed a goblet to Harry, who sniffed at the brew, and then took a cautious sip. He then took a further, larger mouthful. “Wow, this is fantastic. It’s sort of like, sort of like...warm, alcoholic truffles.” He smacked his lips appreciatively.

“You can expect rather a lot of luxury this evening.”

“Are they…will they be very formal?” Harry asked tentatively.

“I have not had the good fortune to be invited in the past, although I believe that whilst the vampires are rather regal, they are not forbiddingly so.”

“Raif is friends with them, isn’t he?”

“I believe he plays chess on a regular basis with Renee Baptiste. He is the most senior of the first vampire family. In all probability it would have been he that invited us this evening, but I am aware that he is away at present, thus his nephew, Raoul Aristide has invited us instead.”

“So you never met any of the vampires the other times you have been to Cardavia?”

“I never had cause to,” Lucius answered. “They keep to themselves on the whole. You do appreciate what an honour it is to be invited to dine?”

“As long as I’m not the main course!”

Lucius laughed. “Really, you must rid yourself of the notion that you are in any danger.”

Harry smiled. “I know, really. Raif and Vlad explained.” Another thought suddenly occurred to him. “I didn’t know vampires actually _did_ eat anything.”

“You are expecting to be served blood soup and a side order of virgin’s neck, are you?” Lucius laughed.

“Something along those lines,” Harry said with a shudder.

“Actually they don’t _have_ to eat, they gain little to no sustenance from food such as you and I enjoy, but they do occasionally have dinner parties—at which normal food is served—if they wish to entertain non-vampires.”

“So no blood soup, then?”

“Or virgin’s neck,” Lucius agreed.

Harry thought of something else. “Lucius? How should I address them?”

“However they introduce themselves to you. If you are provided with a first name, then you may take it that you are permitted to call them by it. If not, then you will address them by whatever title they use.”

Before too many more minutes had passed, the carriage slowed and drew up. The carriage door was opened and Harry and Lucius alighted to find themselves under cover of a high, stone-built porch before an opened door. They were quickly ushered inside, and then the heavy door was closed behind them with a solid sounding thud.

Harry gazed about him.

They were stood in a huge, impressive entrance hall. Lights burned in brackets on the walls, and a great chandelier overhead twinkled with a myriad of candles. Black marble pillars ranked along the side of the room, flanking a spectacular red, patterned Turkish carpet that stretched from Harry’s feet, down the length of the great room, to the bottom of a stone staircase that ascended to the storey above.

A servant took their cloaks; Harry cast a nervous look at Lucius, then smiled at the vision before him. Lucius was at his most regal best: dressed in pristine white shirt, black trousers and waistcoat, with a sleeveless fur-trimmed robe over all. His long blonde hair hung down his back like a sheet of silver—and seemed to be a source of fascination for the man who now indicated to them to follow him. Harry realised that for the large part, the people whom he had met so far in Cardavia had all had dark hair. Lucius must stand out like a diamond in a coal mine. He felt a welling of pride in his lover. 

Not knowing whether it would be entirely appropriate, instead of taking Lucius’ hand, Harry merely brushed his knuckles over it instead. Lucius cast a quick look down at him, and smiled reassuringly.

There were led up the broad stone steps to the upper floor. As they ascended, the noise of many people talking drifted down to them, over which could be heard the faint sound of music. The manservant showed them to a pair of gilded doors and ushered them through.

“Mister Lucius Malfoy and Mister Harry Potter,” he intoned with great solemnity.

The room was bright with glittering lights and a great throng of people were assembled there. From their midst a man strode forth.

“Ah, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, I am so pleased you could accept my invitation. Raoul Aristide at your service.” 

He held out his hand, and Harry found his own hand grasped in a firm grip and shaken enthusiastically. “Thank you for inviting us,” he said politely.

“The pleasure is mine,” Aristide assured him. 

Turning to Lucius, Aristide once more held out his hand. Harry noticed the man’s eyes widen slightly, and then travel appreciatively over Lucius’ body. He held onto Lucius’ hand rather longer than manners dictated, and it seemed to Harry that it was all that Aristide could do to drag his eyes away and return his attention to Harry.

Taking hold of Harry’s arm, he proceeded to draw him into the great room. “Come, Mister Potter—or may I call you Harry—please allow me to introduce you to some of my friends and family.”

In one respect Aristide was just as Harry had imagined him to be: dark-haired, pale-skinned, attired in black. But he was also rather different to Harry’s pre-conceived ideas. He was perhaps in his late fifties, although it was hard to be sure. The dark hair was greying at the temples and his dark blue eyes sparkled with good humour. Nowhere near as formidable as Harry had expected, he soon relaxed in the man’s company as he was introduced to the assembled guests.

“Ah, now then, Harry, here is someone I especially want you to meet; my daughter, Selena. Selena, my dear, this is Mister Harry Potter.”

From a knot of people a small, slim figure detached itself—and Harry found himself gazing into a pair of large, beautiful slate-blue eyes—set in a heart-shaped faced—that peeped shyly up at him from beneath a fringe of thick black lashes. Selena was perhaps Harry’s age, maybe a year or two younger, with a slight, androgynous figure swathed in a simple, but beautifully cut, long black dress. Her face was as pale as a winter’s moon, but there was an incongruous dusting of faint freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing and hung like a silken curtain to her shoulders.

Harry gazed at her in awe, and suddenly remembered why he had once found girls so fascinating. Recollecting his manners, he stretched out a hand and shook the fine-boned one that was offered in return. For a mad moment Harry wondered if he should kiss the hand, but before he could decide, it was withdrawn.

Another hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder, and Harry started and looked up to find Lucius staring at him, one eyebrow raised, an expression of faint censor on his face. Harry blushed, and dropped his eyes. The proprietary hand squeezed briefly.

Harry blushed even harder when he noticed the slight smirk on Aristide’s face as the older man watched the subtle exchange. A devilish twinkle came into Aristide’s eyes and he suddenly said, “Come, Lucius, let us leave these young things together—I believe dinner will be served shortly and there is something I would like to show you beforehand.” 

Before Lucius had a chance to protest, he was swept away, and Harry was left, standing rather awkwardly, by Selena’s side.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Selena said, “Sorry.”

Harry frowned. “Whatever for?” he queried.

Selena glanced up at him. “For my father being really rather obvious about throwing us together. He can be frightfully embarrassing at times.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Harry reassured her.

“Did you really go to Hogwarts?” Selena asked suddenly. “I’ve heard it is a very good school.”

“I did, and yes, it’s a great school.”

“You were the Triwizard champion, weren’t you?”

Harry nodded. “Although completely by accident, and I lost a very good friend during the competition.” His face fell at the recollection of Cedric’s death.

Selena placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. So, where did you go to school?” Harry asked.

Now it was Selena’s turn to look glum. “I was not permitted to attend school; I had a tutor at home. I would have loved to have gone away to school,” she went on wistfully. “To have slept in a dormitory, had secret midnight feast, friends. But my mother died when I was very small, and my father would have been lonely without me.”

“My mum died when I was just a baby too, and my dad. They were protecting me from Voldemort.”

“Of course…the source of your famous scar.” Selena reached up a dainty finger and traced the zigzag line on Harry’s forehead. 

Silence fell again, and Harry searched desperately for something to say.

Before he could think of anything, Selena said, “Lucius is you lover?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry goggled at her forthrightness. “Erm, yeah,” he managed to reply.

“He is very beautiful,” she went on. “Of course, my father will try to seduce him.”

Harry opened and shut his mouth, suddenly bereft of speech. “What?” he finally managed to croak.

Selena turned to look at him. “Your lover is very beautiful,” she repeated. “All that lovely long, blond hair, like a sheet of sun-kissed ice—my father will want to take him to bed.”

“Your father? But…Lucius wouldn’t,” Harry said determinedly.

Selena smiled slightly. “Father can be very persuasive.”

_I’ll bet_ , Harry thought savagely, _and if he dangles that damn book in front of Lucius’ nose_ …

“Would you mind very much?” Selena asked curiously.

“Yes,” Harry said vehemently. “I damn well would. Wouldn’t you?” he demanded.

Selena shrugged. “Why should _I_ mind whom my Father beds—that is his business, not mine.”

“Well it’s bloody well _my_ business and if he thinks he can waltz in and try and take Lucius to bed…well, he’s got another think coming!”

“It is a great honour, you know, to be chosen as a bed partner.”

“Well it’s one that’s not going to be bestowed on Lucius. Where did they go?” Harry began glancing around the great room, trying to catch a glimpse of Lucius’ tell-tale blond hair. But before he caught sight of his lover, a great booming noise reverberated through the room.

“Come,” Selena said. “That is the summons to dinner. You will find your lover there…unless my father is already having him as an entrée as we speak,” she added with a smirk.

Harry changed his opinion of her; she wasn’t a sweet, shy young woman, she was a malicious, evil-minded baggage. He glowered at her, but all she did was smile sweetly and offer her arm for Harry to lead her into the dining room.

When Harry finally caught sight of Lucius he would have laughed, had the result of his lover’s expression not so directly affected Harry himself; for Lucius looked embarrassed and awkward—two emotions Harry had not previously considered it was possible for Lucius to feel.

The cause of Lucius’ discomfort was Aristide, whose arm was draped around Lucius’ shoulder, pulling the blond-haired man close to his side. He was bent, whispering something in Lucius’ ear.

Abandoning all semblance of good manners, Harry dragged Selena over to her father and released her, then he insinuated himself between Aristide and Lucius, and said, “There you are, darling!” in a loud voice, and reached up to place a smacking kiss on Lucius’ mouth. Having staked his claim in no uncertain terms, Harry turned to Aristide with a smile. “You must forgive me, Lucius and I don’t like to be parted for too long.”

For a moment the vampire looked rather put out, then his suavity returned. “Of, course, Harry; I shouldn’t like to let Lucius out of _my_ sight for too long, either.” He smiled and then indicated places at the long dining table where Lucius and Harry were to sit. “It is as well that I have placed you beside each other,” he remarked.

_Yes, and by you, as well_ , Harry thought, as he watched Aristide take his place to Lucius’ right, at the end of the table. Selena was seated opposite, at her father’s right hand. She smirked across at Harry as they took their seats, and then turned her gaze first to Lucius, and then to her father, her meaning unmistakable.

Harry glowered at her.

He might have won the battle, but Harry hadn’t as yet won the war. A succession of sumptuous courses came and went, but Aristide made no secret of the fact that he would prefer to be dining on Lucius. His hand would reach out and caress Lucius’ arm; he would lean over and whisper conspiratorially in Lucius’ ear. On one occasion Harry slipped his hand beneath the table to grope Lucius’ thigh…only to find another hand already there. At that last he had given the encroaching hand a hefty pinch, and was gratified to see Aristide snatch his hand back with a smothered curse. Whereas Lucius’ good breeding seemed to preclude him from doing anything which might offend their host, Harry had no such qualms.

Selena watched the by-play with amusement. And on Harry’s other side, an aging dowager seemed intent on extracting Harry’s life history from him, including a second by second account of his search for the Horcruxes and his final battle with Voldemort. When cheese and biscuits, accompanied by a rather splendid port, arrived, Harry was about ready to hex the whole roomful of people into oblivion.

Those assembled did not just consist of vampires; there were ordinary people there as well. The difference wasn’t obvious, but Harry began to realise that he could tell who was a vampire and who wasn’t—even without the benefit of the sight of their elongated canines. It was a subtle difference, but on the whole the vampires appeared more self-contained, more confident, more assured of their place in the world. And there was something about their eyes that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on.

When it appeared that everyone had eaten their fill, Aristide got to his feet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “it is a pleasure, as always, to have so many of my friends and family gathered around me. And this evening we have the added pleasure of the company of two esteemed guests: Mister Harry Potter, and Mister Lucius Malfoy.” Aristide turned the last two words into a caress, and his eyes went to Lucius.

There was a round of applause, and the lady next to Harry dug him forcefully in the ribs, and grinned at him, revealing a rather yellowed pair of fangs. Harry forced himself to smile weakly back at her, and hoped with all his heart that Aristide wasn’t going to make him give a speech. He was lucky; Aristide was more than happy for the limelight to remain focussed on himself, and after a few more words, he bid his guests make their way to the drawing room where coffee and liqueurs would be served. 

In the general hubbub of people getting up from the table and milling about, Harry kept a firm hold on Lucius’ arm. There was no way he was giving Aristide the chance to abscond with his lover again; without the constraint of having a meal to host, Aristide would have plenty of time to practice his arts of _persuasion_ on Lucius.

Lucius, it seemed, was becoming rather annoyed with Harry’s attention. “For Merlin’s sake, Harry,” he hissed in an undertone. “There is really no need to hang onto me like some love-sick maid.”

“You’d rather I left you to your number one fan, then, would you?” Harry demanded.

Lucius had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “His attentions may be a little, ah, _forthright_ …”

“Forthright?” Harry echoed incredulously. “Any more _forthright_ and he’d have been rogering you on the table. Honestly, I don’t know how you can allow him to paw and maul you like that,” he continued heatedly.

“We are his guests,” Lucius said through gritted teeth. “It behoves us to be polite.”

“Polite? Bollocks!” Harry said coarsely. “The only reason you’re letting him get away with it is because you’re trying to get information about that damn book out of him.”

“What happened to trusting me? That didn’t...”

“Oh, dear me, surely not having a lover’s tiff?” Aristide stood behind them, a smirk on his handsome face, Selena on his arm.

“Yes,” Harry began crossly, before Lucius stepped heavily on his foot.

“Of course not, Raoul, just a slight difference of opinion. Now, you promised to show me round your wonderful house.”

“Indeed, and fortuitously, Selena here was hoping that Harry would honour her by viewing some of her paintings—quite a talented little artist, is my Selena. Is that all right with you, Harry?”

Harry could hardly say no without being frightfully rude, but he shot a venomous look at Aristide, who merely responded with a smug look of his own as he drew Lucius’ arm over his and led Harry’s lover away.

Harry watched them walk away with a sense of defeat.

“Hmm, it appears Lucius is not as averse to the idea of bedding with my father as you are to him doing so,” Selena commented, her eyes following the pair as they exited the room.

“Rot! Lucius is…merely…interested in architecture,” Harry finished feebly.

Selena turned to him. “Oh, well, in that case he will find the _architecture_ in my father’s rooms to be very _interesting_.” She grinned. “Come, I really do want to show you my paintings. And don’t worry,” she added. “My father may push hard to get what he wants, but he never takes by force that which is not freely given.”

The words may have been meant as a reassurance, but to Harry—who was feeling particularly insecure as far as Lucius was concerned, at present—they merely made him wonder just how hard, if at all, Lucius would fight.

Selena led him away from the drawing room and through a maze of corridors and stairs until they had climbed up the top storey of the house. They halted before a door, and Selena released Harry’s arm to draw a small chain from around her neck; on it hung a silver key which she applied to the lock. When Harry stepped through the door at Selena’s prompting, he caught his breath. The room was covered by a dome of glass through which the stars shone brightly, bathing the room with a silver glow. 

“Wow, it’s amazing,” he said, stunned.

“I like it,” Selena said simply, but there was a note of pride in her voice that told Harry that she cared deeply about the room. “It’s my sanctuary,” she went on to explain. “No-one is allowed in here unless I say so.” 

Harry glanced around, and in the starlight he could make out some of the furnishings. There were several comfortable-looking chairs, a desk…and several artist’s easels.

One wall of the room was given over to a huge curved window and Harry moved over to it and looked out. Below him the city spread out in a mass of twinkling lights.

“Wow,” he exclaimed again. “There must be a fantastic view in the daytime.”

“Probably,” Selena said shortly.

For a moment Harry wondered what he had said wrong…then he could have slapped himself when he remembered vampires’ antipathy towards light. “Mind you,” he went on in an attempt at conciliation, “it’s pretty spectacular now…like diamonds.”

All of a sudden the room was filled with light, and the view outside was lost to the reflection of the candles in the sconces around the walls. At Harry’s look of query, Selena shrugged. “I have a little magic,” she said shyly.

Now fully lit, Harry could see that the room had been decorated by someone with an eye to comfort. There were welcoming chairs by the fire—which had also sprung up at Selena’s command—and thick rugs with piles of cushions on them where one could sprawl in comfort. There were piles of books scattered on the floor and on the small tables that were dotted here and there—perfectly placed to put one’s glass down on. 

But Selena had taken his arm again, and was leading him towards the nearest easel.

Aristide hadn’t been exaggerating; Selena was a very talented artist. The painting depicted one of the many squares to be found in Cardavia. She had captured the hustle and bustle of life perfectly. There were people seated outside a pavement café, others milling about looking into the shop windows, others hurrying about their business. Couples meandered through the scene, arm in arm, heads bent together…and all lit by the glorious sunshine of summer’s day.

Each of the paintings Harry viewed was the same: a typical city life scene, lit by bright sunshine. And he began to sense just how trapped Selena felt by her life. She lived in a cage. Yes, it was a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. Harry tried to imagine how it must feel to spend one’s life in the dark, to know that outside the shutters and drawn curtains, normal people were going about their lives in the daylight. How it must be to never feel the warming sunshine on one’s face.

He suddenly felt a great deal more sympathy towards the enigmatic young woman by his side. But as time passed, his attention began to wander...towards what Lucius might be doing at that moment.

Was he in some great bed with Aristide? Harry could recognise the fact that the vampire was an attractive man. Suave, sophisticated, self-assured: all the things that Lucius himself was. He could well imagine how Lucius might be drawn to Aristide, especially after what he, Harry, had put Lucius through recently. Harry had to simply hope that Lucius did indeed love him...enough to remain faithful to him, even if Aristide offered the book as _persuasion_.

“Come on,” Selena’s utterance broke into Harry’s thoughts and made him jump. “Let’s go and find my father and Lucius,” she continued with a sympathetic smile. “I can tell your mind is not on my artwork.”

“It really is very good,” Harry said sheepishly, “but if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps it is time we were leaving.”

They turned to leave the room...only to meet Aristide and Lucius coming in. Harry gave Lucius a searching look, but the aristocratic face was giving nothing away.

The four of them made their way down to the entrance hall and the carriage was called for. Polite farewells were exchanged, and then Harry and Lucius were ushered into the coach and the door closed behind them.

Harry had just taken a breath to speak, when the door was flung open again and the large lady, who had been seated next to Harry at dinner, squeezed herself in with them.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” she gasped, “only my own equipage has lost a wheel.”

Harry did mind, he had intended to grill Lucius about his time with Aristide, but now he would have to wait until they returned to the hotel.

 

****

****

As soon as the door of their hotel room closed behind them, Harry said, “So, did you get what you wanted? Or, perhaps more to the point, did Aristide?”

Lucius said nothing, but concentrated on removing his leather gloves. Finally he laid them to one side and turned to Harry. “Do you know,” he said mildly, “that I never once had concerns that you might be in Selena’s arms, sampling her undoubted pleasures.”

“Yeah? Well I wasn’t the one letting some complete stranger put his hands all over me.”

“As I said at the time,” Lucius voice was still dangerously quite, “we were his guests and, however _you_ might have been brought up, _I_ was taught that one must be polite to one’s host.”

“There’s polite and there’s _polite_ ,” Harry said hotly, his anger rising in the face of Lucius’ apparent calm. 

“So you think me perfectly capable of being unfaithful to you?”

“What the hell was I supposed to think? My god! I put my hand under the table and found his bloody hand on your thigh.”

“I was wholly aware of where his hand was.”

“Yeah? Enjoying it, were you?” Harry blazed.

Lucius stared at him, the grey eyes like chips of flint. “Your resolution to trust me lasted a long time, didn’t it?” he asked sarcastically.

“Trust you? What _reason_ did you give me to trust you?”

Lucius shook his head, his lip curled in disdain, and turned from Harry. 

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back…Harry reached out and grabbed at Lucius arm. “Don’t you damn well turn away from me!”

Lucius wrenched his arm away, caught his heel on a rug, and crashed down onto the bed.

Words of apology sprang to Harry’s lips…but were stilled when he caught sight of the challenge in Lucius’ eyes. And in a split second the atmosphere between then became charged with sexual tension.

Briefly Harry wondered desperately if he could rise to the challenge so blatantly thrown at him, then the realisation that if he did not he would not be offered it again, coupled with the desire that coursed through his body and hardened his cock in an instant, drove him forward.

He fell on Lucius like a starving man on a feast. His mouth hot and hard on Lucius’, his tongue forcing its way into the proud mouth.

But he needed the feel of warm skin beneath his fingers. 

Straddling Lucius’ hips, Harry pushed off the sleeveless robe and then, with fingers he fought to stop trembling, he began to slip loose the roundels of jet buttons on Lucius’ waistcoat. All the time Lucius lay beneath him—not moving, not speaking—his eyes, like burning ice, fixed on Harry’s face.

The edges of the waistcoat were pushed to one side and now Harry began on the little circles of mother-of-pearl that fastened the white lawn of Lucius’ shirt. Finally, as the last button slipped free, Harry slid his hands beneath the material and closed his eyes as they skimmed over the smooth, silky skin of Lucius’ chest. His questing fingers found nipples, already pebbled in anticipation of Harry’s touch. He caressed, then twisted them, and then finally sank his mouth down over each one in turn, laving them roughly with his tongue before sucking them into his mouth, teasing with his teeth and lips.

Lucius moaned, a breathy whisper of sound.

Harry left off his ministrations and pushed the clothing off Lucius’ shoulders and, dragging it from beneath the older wizard’s back, threw the crumpled mass away onto the floor.

Now Harry slipped off the bed to kneel between Lucius’ thighs. Concentrating on his task, he undid the worked leather belt at Lucius’ waist, then undid the buttons on the fly of his trousers. Easing the material apart, Harry could see the hard outline of Lucius’ erection tenting the silk his underwear. He swallowed, resisted the urge to palm the length, and dropped to work on Lucius’ boots. He pulled off each in turn, slipping them off easily over the soft woollen socks, then removed the socks, leaving Lucius’ high-arched feet bare. Harry bent to drop a kiss on each beautiful foot, before rising up on his knees again and grasping the top of Lucius’ trousers.

He pulled, Lucius lifted off the bed to assist him, but otherwise remained silent. The black silk pants, caught in the trousers, came free as well, and Harry drew them down over Lucius’ hips and then off.

The musk of Lucius’ arousal reached Harry’s nose, and with a gasp of desire he pressed his face into the warm groin, rubbing his face over Lucius’ cock and balls as if he wanted to coat himself with Lucius’ scent. He breathed deep, drawing the familiar aroma into himself.

Harry’s mouth dropped over Lucius’ balls, drawing them carefully into his mouth, sucking gently whilst drifting his tongue over the tightening surface. Feeling bold, Harry left Lucius’ balls and proceeded into uncharted territory; his tongue traced a path down Lucius’ perineum, then quickly darted back up again. He had never dared this familiarity before, but tonight it seemed he was to be allowed any liberty…and Harry fully intended to make the most of his freedom.

He manoeuvred Lucius so that his arse was just over the edge of the bed, then, pushing the older wizard’s knees up, Harry once more bent his face to Lucius’ groin. This time his tongue traced over the perineum…and continued downwards, into the crack between the pale rounds of Lucius’ arse, and onward to that secret entrance to his body. Harry flicked the very tip of his tongue around the puckered entrance, then, almost heady with the knowledge of what he had done, quickly traced back up to Lucius’ balls. But that most private part of Lucius’ body drew Harry like a magnet. Conscious that he might never be permitted this freedom again, Harry’s tongue once more journeyed downwards. This time he was bolder, swirling his tongue around the entrance, sweeping broad strokes of his saliva-slicked tongue over it and, finally, pushing the tip of his tongue into Lucius’ body.

Beneath his hands that were splayed on Lucius’ thighs, Harry could feel the sudden tension in the muscles…and knew he had gone as far as he was going to be permitted to go. Reluctantly, with one last swirl of his tongue, Harry raised his mouth back to Lucius’ cock and with the ease of practice, took the length into his mouth and throat.

Lucius let out a gasp of pleasure, and for several minutes, Harry treated his lover to the best fellatio he knew how to give, his own erection trapped and ignored in the tight confines of his trousers.

But his own needs couldn’t be ignored forever, and Harry left off sucking Lucius’ cock, rose to his feet, and quickly stripped off his own clothing. For a moment he stood over Lucius’ supine form, displaying his aroused body to Lucius’ steady gaze. Then, coaxing Lucius to move up the bed so that his lover was seated, propped against the mound of pillows by the headboard, Harry straddled Lucius’ stomach and presented his own cock for attention.

For a moment they gazed at each other, grey eyes meeting green. Then Lucius, his eyes still fixed on Harry’s, dropped his mouth onto Harry’s cock.

Another new sensation.

Of course, Lucius had taken Harry’s cock into his mouth any number of times, but always he had been in control. Now Harry had his hand laced into the hair at the back of Lucius’ neck, the other braced on the headboard, and was dictating the depth and pace of his lover’s stimulating mouth.

But he was careful. For this night wasn’t about subjugation, or dominance. It was about something far more important—the continuance of their relationship and their respective places within it.

There had been a point when Harry had thought that perhaps Lucius intended for Harry to fuck him, and he had been scared. Not that he was repulsed by the idea—just that it had felt wrong to him. His place was as bottom…and he was happy with that. It felt right to him. But tonight was different, and whilst Harry did not want to fuck Lucius, he did want to remain in control.

But there was a way he could be bottom…and yet be top. Using the lubrication spell to prepare himself, Harry withdrew his cock from Lucius’ mouth and positioned himself over his lover’s hard length. Reaching between his own thighs, Harry grasped Lucius’ cock and lowered himself down onto it. As the long length filled him, Harry’s hands went to Lucius’ shoulders and he threw back his head and closed his eyes, a cry rising from his lips as pure pleasure suffused his body. 

As the pleasure built between them, Harry’s rise and fall became faster…and Lucius, his hands gripping Harry’s hips tightly, rose to meet each downward plunge, their flesh joining with a slap.

One of Lucius’ hands left Harry’s hip, wrapped itself around Harry’s cock and pumped it in time to their coupling. 

The moment of completion rushed at Harry like a ravening wolf, consuming and devouring him, his cry of attainment torn from his body, mingled with words of love for the man beneath him.

“Lucius, oh Lucius, love you, love you.”

Lucius surged up into Harry’s body twice more before reaching his own climax. A cry, as ragged and wild as Harry’s own, breaking free from his mouth.

Harry slumped forward, coming to rest with his forehead pressed against Lucius’. As his lover’s softening cock slipped from Harry’s body, he eased his body off the one beneath him and came to lie at Lucius’ side, his chest heaving as he gulped in great gasps of air. His hair and body were wet with sweat, and his thighs felt as if they were on fire, but Harry felt magnificent. He turned onto his side…just as Lucius did the same, and they lay, facing each other, eye to eye, until Harry opened his mouth to speak.

But Lucius simply shook his head…and Harry understood: their bodies had said everything that had needed to be said, adding spoken words was simply not necessary.

Pressing close together, they slipped into sleep.


	8. A Spanner in the Works

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

Chapter Eight – A Spanner in the Works

The children returned to Durmstrang three days after Harry and Lucius came back from their trip to Cardavia, and the Offence and Defence teachers resumed their teaching roles. Although many of the students were aware that they were together, Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy were always careful to keep their dealings with one another on a strictly professional footing when in the classroom.

Out of it, they seemed to have reached a new level in their relationship. Since that one tumultuous day in Cardavia, Harry felt as if he and Lucius had become even closer. There was a feeling of balance between them, of stability, as if the bonds between them had been tested, and found to be strong enough to hold them together, tempered like steel by the emotional stresses they had both been put under. Harry found that he longer worried that Lucius might leave him; he was determined to enjoy the here and now, and let the future take care of itself. Of course, this new-found acceptance had a lot to do with the fact that Harry was far more confident in the veracity of Lucius’ feelings for him.

For the first time in Harry’s life, he felt settled and contented. Even the problems surrounding his relationship with the Weasleys resolved themselves by means of an unexpected visitor the first week in March.

Harry and Lucius were strolling towards the great hall for their evening meal when one of the fifth years hurried up to them. “Professor Potter? The headmaster sent me to find you...there is a visitor for you.”

It was an odd enough occurrence to cause Harry to frown. “Did he say who?” he queried.

The boy shook his head. “No, sir. He just asked me to ask you to come to his office.” 

Message safely delivered, the boy scuttled off. Harry turned to Lucius. “Odd, who do you think it is?”

Lucius closed his eyes, and theatrically pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Wait, no, yes, the mists are clearing now...”

Harry jabbed his lover in the ribs and grinned. “Idiot!”

Lucius gave him a haughty look. “Isn’t that rather like the pot calling the cauldron black?”

Harry was dissuaded from retaliation by the arrival around the corner of a gaggle of students, who flowed around the two professors like water, and hurried on down the corridor.

“Well, I’d best go and see who it is...since your powers of clairvoyance seemed to have deserted you,” Harry teased. “Want to come?”

Lucius shook his head. “No, the visitor is here to see you, and besides, it’s sticky toffee pudding for desert this evening.”

“You’ll get tubby,” Harry warned, moving nimbly out of Lucius’ reach.

“Tubby?” Lucius echoed in a scandalised tone. “The day you see an ounce of spare flesh on my middle, you be sure to tell me.”

“What? So you can hex me? You must be joking.” Checking to see that they were alone, Harry dropped a quick kiss on Lucius’ mouth. “See you later. Save me some pudding,” he added.

Harry knocked on Vlad’s door, and was called in. Pushing the door open, Harry stopped short at the sight of the young man sat in the chair by Vlad’s desk: it was Ron.

The redhead got to his feet at Harry’s entry, a tentative smile on his face as if he were unsure of his welcome, which, bearing in mind the last time they had met he had refused to even speak to Harry, was understandable.

Harry had no such qualms. “Ron!” he cried enthusiastically, flinging his arms around his erstwhile best friend. “What the heck are you doing here...everything’s okay, isn’t it,” he asked, suddenly worried.

Ron had returned his embrace, and when they pulled apart, the smile on his face was one of relief. “Yeah, mate, everything’s fine...just thought I’d come and, you know, visit you...and Mal...Lucius.”

It turned out that Ron’s visit hadn’t been entirely his own idea; Molly had been somewhat of a driving force behind it. But he and Harry spent a pleasant evening together and it was great to catch up on all the news from Britain. Lucius was on his best behaviour, and Ron, although obviously not particularly comfortable in the ex-Death Eater’s presence, managed to be civil enough. When Ron left the following morning he had extracted a promise from Harry to visit the Burrow soon.

The second visitor was an altogether different matter.

Just before Easter, Lucius returned from visiting Draco, bursting with news. “They think Draco is ready for a visit home,” he announced, beaming with pleasure.

Harry summoned a smile. “That’s great.” He managed to inject an enthusiasm into his tone that he certainly wasn’t feeling. “When?” 

“The first week of the Easter holidays.”

“A whole week?”

Lucius nodded enthusiastically. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Although Harry had made a polite enquiry into Draco’s health every time Lucius returned from visiting his son, he had never delved too deeply into just how Draco was progressing. Now, with Lucius’ son’s imminent arrival, Harry decided he really should know what he was about to be let in for.

Later that evening, as he and Lucius sat curled together on the sofa in Lucius’ rooms, he tentatively said, “Lucius?”

“Hmm?” Lucius was reading, and gave Harry only a little attention until Harry went on.

“Just how well is Draco?”

Lucius put his book down. “What do you mean, Harry?”

“Well, I mean...I know he’s a lot better, but, well...”

“Stop dithering, Harry and say what you have to.”

“How much does he remember?” Harry blurted.

“Ah.” Lucius expression went grave. “That is something I have been meaning to speak to you about, Harry.”

Harry got a nasty, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“The doctors have managed to restore most of Draco’s memories, although they took care to keep hidden those associated with...with his torture and the death of Narcissa,” Lucius explained. “But if what you are really asking is if he remembers you, then yes...the answer is yes.”

“I see,” Harry said carefully. “So, I don’t suppose he’s suddenly decided he likes me, after all?” he added, in an attempt at humour.

Lucius bit his lip. “Ah, well, you see...it’s like this...”

“Stop dithering, Lucius and say what you have to.” Harry echoed Lucius’ earlier words, grinning weakly. “It’s okay, I know what you’re trying to say: he still hates my guts.”

“Perhaps ‘hate’ is a trifle too strong a word...”

“Is it?” Harry queried glumly.

“But I have to admit that he has retained a strong antipathy toward you.”

There was a few moments silence, and then Lucius said, “In fact, I think that—if you don’t mind—we should keep the fact that we are involved with one another a secret, for the time being at least...just until Draco is more settled.”

Harry swallowed hard. “I see. Well, if that’s what you think is best,” he said shortly. All his worst fears were coming true, already Lucius was asking him to hide their relationship, and Draco had not even come home yet. Just how much trouble would be caused when he did?”

“I’m sorry, Harry, I do think it would be for the best. You do understand, don’t you?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“It will only be for a short while. It’s just that he has already had so much to adjust to...like the fact that we no longer hold the privileged position in society that we once did.”

“I bet that hurt,” Harry muttered.

Lucius looked pained. “Really, Harry, I do think you might demonstrate a little more compassion.”

Harry sighed. “Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry, Lucius....it’s just that, well, I know he’s going to change things between us.”

“Of course he won’t,” Lucius said confidently.

Harry chose not to argue with his lover, despite the fact that he had a strong feeling Lucius was wrong. “Am I supposed to hide the fact that I’m even here?” Harry asked bitterly.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” Lucius reassured him. “He is well aware that you also hold a teaching position at Durmstrang.”

Harry stared into the fire as silence fell between them once more. He knew he had to tread very carefully, but at the same time felt he had to express his thoughts on the matter. “Don’t you think,” he began warily, “that it would be better just to be upfront and honest about everything?”

“I am not proposing to be _dis_ honest,” Lucius countered. “Rather, I believe we should just not be, well, _obvious_ about our relationship.”

“Instead we should creep about as if what we are doing is dirty and wrong?” Harry got to his feet, unable to contain his anger.

Lucius own anger was also obviously rising. “Really, Harry, I fail to see why you have to be so difficult about this. All I am asking is that we wait for a while before we tell Draco about our relationship.”

“I can’t see what difference it’s going to make,” Harry snapped. “He’s going to try and split us up whether we tell him now or in six months time. Can’t you see that?” he pleaded.

“I have never yet allowed my son to dictate to me what I can and cannot do,” Lucius said shortly. “I am not about to start now.”

They glared at each other across the room. Harry broke first. “Okay, we’ll do it your way...for now. But only as long as you promise to tell him before the summer holidays.”

Lucius, having won the battle, was inclined to be accommodating. “Of course, that seems entirely reasonable. Thank you, Harry. I really am sorry to ask this of you,” he went on, “I know it is not an ideal situation.”

Harry came and sat back down next to Lucius. “I’m just afraid,” he admitted. “I do love you so much, and I can’t bear the thought that he might split us up.”

Lucius pulled Harry into his arms, his lips seeking Harry’s mouth. “He won’t, I promise,” he said, before kissing Harry deeply.

 

****

****

Draco returned to Durmstrang on a clear, sunlit, blustery afternoon mid-way through April. The children had departed—full of joy at being released from school for the Easter holidays—two days previously, and the school was echoing and empty.

Harry sat in his rooms for a while, his eye on the clock, until the time came, and then passed, for Lucius to return from the clinic with his son. He tried reading, tried going through his lesson plans, tried writing a letter to the Weasleys—but eventually Harry gave up the unequal struggle to keep his mind off what Draco and Lucius were doing, grabbed his broom, and went out to the Quidditch pitch.

When he arrived it was to find that several members of staff were taking advantage of the clement weather and had started up an impromptu game. His arrival was heralded by cries of glee and he was soon co-opted onto Alex Johnson’s team, playing against Krum and his side.

It was a wild game, flown at top speed and with great hilarity. Cheating was the order of the day and spells were flung—always with an eye to safety however—between the players. Harry was soon drenched with sweat and laughing so much he was more in danger of falling off his broom as a result of hysteria than by any of the spells thrown at him. For two whole hours he hardly gave a thought to Lucius and Draco. 

It was a welcome break from the strain he had been under since Draco’s visit had been announced. Still convinced that Lucius was wrong not to tell Draco about he and Harry’s relationship, Harry had been hard pressed on a number of occasions to keep his opinions to himself. But having made the agreement with Lucius, he was determined to stick to his word.

Harry’s side eventually won the match, thanks to a low level, lightening fast sprint by Harry that nearly ended in disaster when the snitch, in one last effort to remain free, darted upwards seconds before it would have hit the stands. Harry, with every last bit of his strength, managed to pull his broom up after it, and snatch the fluttering ball out of the air.

Breathless and exhilarated, the two teams made their way in to dinner, still marvelling over Harry’s flying abilities. It was, perhaps, not the best way for Harry to come face to face with his old arch nemesis—surrounded by admiring friends, Victor Krum’s arm slung around his shoulder as the ex-Romanian star loudly proclaimed that Harry could have played seeker on any team in the world he chose with the talent he possessed.

Lucius and Draco were seated at the large round table, quietly waiting for everyone to assemble. Harry sobered immediately at the sight of them, slipped from beneath Krum’s arm, and took his place at the table. Draco’s eyes followed him silently, and Harry wondered how it was that Lucius’ eyes could be so warm and yet Draco’s—who eyes were only a shade or two darker—could be so cold.

Once they were all assembled, Vlad got to his feet and made a short speech of introduction and welcome for Draco. The other teachers nodded politely at the Offence teacher’s son, their eyes alight with curiosity. It had been a surprise to all of them to discover that not only was Valentin really Lucius Malfoy, but that he had his son living in his quarters. A son, moreover, who had been tortured horribly by his own side, and then forced to watch his mother endure the same before being made to watch her die.

There was an almost palpable feel of sympathy in the air.

Draco’s cold reception of Harry set the tone for the rest of his visit. If at all possible, he ignored Harry, only his eyes, gleaming with malice, would give any indication that he was aware of Harry’s existence. Other times, when absolutely required to do so, he would address Harry in a cold, flat voice, his mouth twisted with distaste.

It didn’t take the other teachers long to pick up on the animosity. 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Alex commented one day. “I hope you’re wearing your vest today…those looks that Draco keeps shooting at you are enough to freeze hell over. I’m guessing he’s not too keep on you and his dad shagging?”

“He doesn’t know,” Harry said sourly. “Lucius thought it best we keep our relationship under wraps for a while…until Draco settles in.”

Alex shot Harry a sympathetic look. “That’s tough. You two are usually at it like rabbits,” he added coarsely.

Harry flushed.

“So, when is he going to tell his horrible brat, then?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Only, I did make him promise to do it before the summer holidays. I’m damned if I’m going to spend the whole summer trying to pretend that Lucius and I are just work colleagues.”

 

****

****

Draco’s visits became more frequent, first once every two weeks, for a weekend, and then every weekend, until finally the time came when he was discharged from the clinic altogether to remain at Durmstrang with his father.

By this time a number of the teachers had lost at lot of their sympathy for Draco. 

Having gained in confidence, Draco started to revert to his old habit of trying to lord it over everyone. The students quickly fell under his thrall and he was often to be seen with an entourage of hangers-on. The fact that he was regaling his fans with stories about Harry quickly came to Harry’s attention. He gritted his teeth and refused to rise to the bait, but he did pull Lucius to one side after classes one day.

“Either you tell Draco to keep his mouth shut, or I’ll start spreading some rumours of my own,” he said viciously. “I refuse to let him undermine my authority here.”

Lucius passed a hand over his face. “I know, I’m sorry, Harry, truly I am, but I have to treat him with kid gloves, you must realise that. Anything could cause him to have a relapse…and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.”

“No, I don’t. But nor will I let him treat me the way he has been doing. You must do something, Lucius. You can’t let him behave like this. And I’m not the only one he’s upsetting. He’s been rude to several members of staff. They’ve only been restrained from slapping him down by the knowledge that they have to be careful around him, but I’m warning you, their patience won’t last forever. Surely a gentle reprimand from you would be better than a right shouting at from someone like Dmitri?”

“He’d better not,” Lucius said ferociously. “I won’t permit anyone to jeopardise Draco’s recovery.”

“Then _do_ something,” Harry implored.

Lucius let out a sigh. “You are right. I know that. I just…it’s just…I can’t lose him again, Harry, I just can’t. Perhaps it would be better if I were to take him away somewhere. Somewhere he can take the time to adjust more slowly.”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. “No,” he said quickly. “I don’t think that’s the answer. After all,” he reasoned, “the clinic wouldn’t have discharged him if they didn’t think he was going to be okay. I think you just have to be kind, but firm, with him, Lucius. Let him know that he can’t treat people the way he has been doing. And isn’t it about time you told him about us? I’m getting tired of you having to sneak into my rooms in the dead of night for a quick fuck. You did promise you would tell him by the summer.”

“And I will, Harry, but when I feel the time is right. Do you think I like it anymore than you do? Having to creep around?” He reached out to Harry, and Harry was just about to go into Lucius’ arms, when the door to the classroom burst open.

“Oh, here you are, father. I wondered what was keeping you.” Draco turned to Harry. “Unlike you, Potter, my father does have a life beyond the classroom: try to remember that next time you feel like holding him up with your petty queries. If you are not capable of teaching without constantly asking for advice, perhaps you are not really qualified for the job,” he sneered.

Harry opened his mouth to retaliate but before he could speak, Lucius spoke. “Draco, remember your manners. You have to understand that during the course of our job there are things that _Professor_ Potter and I have to refer to one another about.”

For a moment Draco looked stunned, then for a split second a devious look came over his face and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in Draco’s head.

Lucius’ son hung his head and stared down at his feet. “I’m sorry, father,” he whispered. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Lucius was all contrition. He gathered Draco into his arms and held him tight. “It’s all right, Draco. I’m not angry. Come on, Professor Potter and I had just about finished, let’s go down to dinner.”

He began to lead Draco from the room, just before they reached the door Draco shot a quick look back at Harry, his expression was one of triumph. 

Harry stood in the empty classroom and fumed. Draco had his father wrapped around his little finger and there seemed to be nothing that Harry could do about it. No matter what, Lucius was always going to think his son as a fragile being who had to be cosseted at all costs. Whilst Harry was perfectly sure that Draco was far more resilient that they were all being led to believe.

He had two choices, either he could give Lucius up now, or he could fight for his lover. And Harry never gave anything up without a fight. But he had to be very, very careful about how he waged the war. 

Harry perched himself on one of the desks and stared into the middle distance, one leg swinging as he turned the problem over in his mind. One way or another he had to get Draco to show his true colours, had to get him to demonstrate that he was not a delicate bit of porcelain that Lucius needed to guard fiercely. And the way he had to do that was not to react, whatever Draco threw at him. Sooner or later his nemesis would crack—all Harry had to do was to make sure that Lucius was there to witness it.

His plan of action decided, Harry got to his feet and made his way to the great hall for dinner.

 

****

****

Things went just as Harry predicted. Draco, infuriated by Harry’s indifference to him, tried harder and harder to get a rise out of Harry.

In the end Harry did react, but it wasn’t in defence of himself, rather in defence of Madame Venitia, of whom Harry had become rather fond.

They were seated at dinner one evening, a pleasant buzz of conversation drifting up and down the teachers’ table, the students’ hubbub like white noise in the background. Vlad, Alex, Krum and Harry were in the middle of a heated discussion about England’s chances in the next Quidditch season when Harry gradually became aware that Madame Venitia was becoming somewhat distressed. He glanced around to find the cause of the problem, only to notice that Draco was seated beside her. 

“Ven? Is everything all right?” Harry queried.

Before she could speak, Draco, with an evil look on his face, butted in. “I was only remarking that it was a shame that Vlad was unable to find anyone qualified to teach Herbology.”

“Venitia is more than qualified to teach Herbology,” Harry said heatedly, belatedly remembering his vow not to rise to Draco’s lures.

“Of course, you would think so, wouldn’t you, Potter. Perhaps because you yourself have no qualifications.”

“Sometimes practical experience is of more use than qualifications,” Harry countered.

“I’m not sure I like having my judgement called into question,” came Vlad’s voice from Harry’s side.

“Oh,” Draco said airily, “I’m not questioning your judgement, Vlad. Only, I know it must be hard to get anyone to teach in this place— I suppose you just have to take what you can get, even if you have to take the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel.”

There was a collective gasp from the assembled teachers, who had all ceased their conversations to eavesdrop on the confrontation taking place.

“Draco,” Harry said, forcing himself to be calm, “everyone already knows you’re an obnoxious little twat, there’s no need to keep reminding us.”

Alex let out a great guffaw of laughter. “Hear, hear,” he cried. 

One by one the assembled teachers began to laugh. Draco’s face grew redder and redder. 

“And I presume you’re including your father in that description,” Harry added, “a ‘scraping from the bottom of the barrel’?”

“You, you,” Draco spluttered, his fury causing the words to stick in his throat. Finally, with a crash, he scraped back his chair and rushed from the room.

The exchange had happened too quickly for Lucius to get a word in, but now he raised his voice at Harry. “Go after him,” he demanded. “Go after him, and apologise. Now.”

“No,” Vlad said sharply, his hand on Harry’s arm, although Harry had no intention of going after Draco. “It is about time you opened you eyes, Lucius, to the fact that your son is rude, spoilt and a thorough pain in the arse. I am sick and tired of putting up with his attitude. I will not allow him to address my staff in this manner. Too long you have cosseted him and allowed him to get away with things no other would have been permitted to get away with.”

Lucius gave the headmaster a black look, one which he widened to include the rest of those present. “I hope you all realise that if my son has a relapse, then you will _all_ be to blame,” he snarled, before pushing back his chair, and following Draco from the room.

The assembled students had been silent during the heated exchange, now there was a sudden burst of noise as they turned to one another to discuss the events that had just unfolded.

“I’m sorry, Vlad,” Harry said quietly.

Vlad turned to him, a frown on his face. “Whatever for?” he queried.

“I shouldn’t have risen to him—he was only doing it to get at me.”

Vlad shook his head. “If there is fault to be apportioned, Harry, then it is to me it must be given. I should have spoken sooner; my long acquaintance with Lucius alone made it my responsibility to say something, not to mention my position as headmaster here.”

“Still, maybe I’d better go and try to make peace.” Now that the adrenaline had drained from his system, Harry experienced a horrible, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Despite his best intentions, he had responded to Draco’s needling and now in all probability his relationship with Lucius was over. He felt sick.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Vlad said quietly, somehow discerning Harry’s thoughts. “Lucius may have a bit of a blind spot where Draco is concerned, but even he cannot close his eyes to Draco’s behaviour this time. What he said was inexcusable—Lucius will understand that.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what they say about shooting the messenger, don’t you,” Harry said despondently.

“What?”

“Well, even if Lucius _does_ realise that Draco’s behaviour has become appalling, it was me that caused that realisation…therefore he’ll blame me. I shouldn’t have done it,” he went on, the misery in his voice obvious.

“Harry, if Lucius breaks up with you over this, then it’s his loss, not yours,” Alex chipped in. “But he’ll be a damn fool if he does. It’s about time he let Draco take responsibility for his own actions, instead of always leaping to defend him.”

“But Draco’s been through so much,” Harry replied. “It’s only natural for Lucius to want to protect him.”

Around them the students were starting to leave the great hall and soon there were only a few teachers left at the table.

Harry held his goblet of wine in both hands, staring moodily into its depths as he turned the cup around and around. Finally, Vlad got to his feet. “I will go and talk to them both,” he declared. “I must assume some of the responsibility I have been shirking. I am sorry, but if Draco is not prepared to temper his attitude and learn some civility, then I will have to request that he leave Durmstrang.”

Harry shot up in his seat in horror. “Please, Vlad, no, don’t do that. You know Lucius will go with him…and they have nowhere to go.”

Vlad dropped a hand onto Harry’s shoulder, but his expression was grave. “I’m sorry, Harry. I would, of course, rather that they stay, but it will have to be on my terms…and those terms are non-negotiable: Draco will behave, or he will leave.”

 

****

****

Harry was so sure that the scene at dinner had heralded the end of his relationship with Lucius that it was with some shock that he awoke in the middle of the night to feel his lover slipping into bed beside him. He was gathered into Lucius’ arms and a needy mouth found his own in the darkness.

They eventually pulled apart and Lucius whispered, “I’m sorry, Harry. It seems I have been guilty of some degree of over protectiveness as far as Draco is concerned.”

“Just a bit,” Harry said magnanimously. “And it was understandable really.”

“Still, I will endeavour to be more firm with him in the future. And tell him about our relationship.”

“We still have one, then?” Harry queried tentatively.

“I sincerely hope so. Why? Is there some reason we should not?”

Harry could hear the obvious concern in Lucius’ voice. “No, only before, at dinner…”

“Don’t remind me,” Lucius said with feeling. “I will be making a number of apologies for Draco’s behaviour tomorrow.”

“You’d be better off letting him make them himself.”

After a moment’s silence, Lucius concurred with Harry. “Perhaps you are right; I must start as I mean to go on.”

Harry snuggled contentedly into Lucius’ arms. Suddenly everything seemed much brighter: contrary to his belief, Lucius had not broken up their relationship, had, in fact, sided against his own son with regard to his behaviour, and, far more importantly to Harry, had agreed to tell his son about his relationship with Harry sooner rather than later.

 

****

****

Harry’s contentment was not to last long. No sooner had the last student left his classroom after the last lesson of the day, than Draco burst through the door, his face a mask of fury.

“I suppose you think you’ve won, don’t you?” he challenged.

Harry continued to put his books away, giving himself time to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

Draco came closer. “You just couldn’t abide not being number one here, could you? You had to turn everyone against me.”

“I didn’t need to,” Harry said. “You did a perfectly good job of that on your own.”

“And as for this so called relationship with my father... he may have used you for a while, but he doesn’t need anything from you. I am all he needs,” Draco spat.

“You’re going to sleep with him as well, are you,” Harry asked, with a sneer on his face.

Draco smiled a slow, horrible smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said.

Harry felt as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water over him. “What?” he managed to gasp, staring at Draco with horror. “I don’t believe you. How could you say such a thing?”

“So you see, Potter,” Draco went on, ignoring Harry’s words, “You really are superfluous to requirements—oh, I’m sorry, that means you’re no use to anyone, no one needs you. And believe me, it won’t be long before my father realises it...and then we will leave this dump—and you—far behind.”

With one final smirk of triumph, Draco swept from the classroom.


	9. The Greenwood

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

**Chapter Nine – The Greenwood**

Harry stood in the centre of the darkening classroom, fighting with a maelstrom of emotions. Of course he knew that Draco had been lying—didn’t he? Lucius would never do something so despicable. But then, there had been a cold ring of truth in Draco’s words. What if…

No! Harry stopped that train of thought before it had even left the station: there was no way Lucius would ever do something like that. It was merely a very low blow by Draco…something to make Harry think poorly of Lucius, and to make him think that he himself really wasn’t needed.

Harry was absolutely certain the words had been a lie. 

Well, nearly absolutely certain. And he knew there was no way he could rest with even a fraction of a degree of doubt.

But he couldn’t come out and ask Lucius to verify the lack of veracity in Draco’s words. If Lucius even suspected that Harry had—even for an instant—thought him capable of such a deed, then it really would be the end of their relationship. 

Especially after Harry had promised to trust Lucius.

But at the same time he couldn’t, just _couldn’t_ , live with the poisoned words writhing in his mind.

He had to do something. Had to speak to someone who could settle that tiny whisper of doubt in his mind. Someone who knew Lucius well enough.

His first thought was Raif; after all, the man seemed to know Lucius better than anyone…and there lay the problem. Harry, despite becoming more friendly with Raif, was still not sure if he was a rival for Lucius’ affections or not, and he seriously did not want to unwittingly give the man ammunition to use against him.

There was Vlad, but Harry dismissed this thought out of hand. The headmaster might be an old family friend, but he very much doubted the man was close enough to Lucius to know if his son’s words were true or not.

Harry felt tears prick his eyes. He felt so alone, so desperately alone. He swallowed a surge of bile that rose in his throat, fighting down the wave of lightheaded sickness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Then it came to him. The answer was obvious. There was one man who knew Lucius well enough to know the truth—and would not hesitate to tell Harry of it, should he ask. Severus Snape.

Fortuitously it was a Friday, and, having continued his practice of attending Alex Johnson’s soirees, it meant that Harry could pretty much get to England and back before anyone noticed he was gone: Alex would merely think that Harry was with Lucius, whilst Lucius would assume that Harry was with Alex. Whilst he could probably have invented an excuse to go and visit his old professor, there was a chance that Lucius may have wanted to accompany him. And the last thing Harry wanted was to see his lover before he had put his mind at rest.

Lucius wouldn’t be expecting to see him that night, so if he managed to Floo to Arelsbadd—and thence to Bucharest and England—before the dining hall began to fill, Harry had a good chance of effecting his escape.

Having decided on his course of action, Harry hurried to his rooms and threw a few things into a bag, then, taking care he was not seen, he crept down to the Floo and began his journey to England.

It didn’t go quite as smoothly as he had hoped. There was a delay in Bucharest and by the time he reached the IFC in London it was close to midnight. Harry knew that his welcome at Severus’ home would be reluctant at best, so, fretting at the delay, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron and booked a room for the night. Ensconced in his room, he pondered for several minutes over the advisability of sending a message to Durmstrang to let them know where he was; after all, there was very little chance now that he could get back to school before anyone realised he was missing.

Pulling a piece of the inn’s complimentary parchment towards him, Harry nibbled the end of a quill, trying to decide what to put. In the end he kept it simple. “Gone to London to visit friends, back soon as. Harry.” He dispatched the note before he had time to get cold feet, then tossed and turned in his bed until the first fingers of grey dawn crept around the curtains.

He had a quick breakfast—not wishing to force Severus to once more deplete his own stores—then made his way to an Apparition point. There was only a short queue, and then it was Harry’s turn. Focusing hard on an image of Severus’ cottage, Harry felt the familiar squeeze…and then he was there.

It was a beautiful late June morning. The sun was sailing overhead in a clear blue sky, the birds were singing in the trees that surrounded the clearing…and Severus was out.

Harry knocked on the door, rattled it, tried to open it, and then went around the building, peering into the windows. There was no sign of Severus.

Harry had never given any thought to the fact that Severus might not be at home; he had assumed the man would be there, his usual irascible self, with an answer to Harry’s query.

Now it was clear he was out, Harry was at a loss. Severus might be gone an hour or a day or a week, there was just no way to know. He stared disconsolately around him, and his thoughts went back to the last time he was here, with Lucius, on a quest for the book.

The book… _a_ book. With a guilty start, Harry suddenly recalled the book he had been given for Christmas—the History of the Cheshire Cats Quidditch team—and how he had left it in the old dairy that stood over the well. With nothing better to do, and thinking that by the time he returned to the cottage Severus might have got back from wherever he had gone, Harry set off to retrieve his gift.

After glancing around the clearing, he chose a faint path that looked as if it led in the direction of the old Riddle house.

After half an hour, Harry realised that he had taken the wrong path. He should easily have reached the old burned-out house by now; instead the trees clustered more thickly about him, and the trail had faded to all but nothing. Still, he wasn’t bothered; he was finding it very restful, walking in the dappled sunshine that filtered through the pale green leaves of the beech trees and the darker green ones of the oaks. The air was clear—redolent of growing, green things—and held the promise of warmer summer days to come. Besides, he could easily Apparate back to the cottage when he became tired of walking. 

He let his mind drift as he wandered between the great trunks of trees, his footfalls silent on the carpet of old leaves. Here and there were patches of dark-green fronded bracken, like islands on the brown forest floor. Overhead, squirrels chased each other through the high branches, and liquid-sounding birdsong rang out in the otherwise silent woods.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that Harry had wandered far into the trap before he even realised it had been sprung.

The sudden harsh cry of a bird jerked Harry back into the here and now, and a flash of red and blue darted across the path in front of him. He followed the bird’s flight until it alighted on a low branch of a nearby tree. Then Harry reached for his wand.

There was nothing overtly threatening about the man who leaned against the great bole of the beech tree, but there was something so inherently _wrong_ about him, that Harry felt a wave of fear flood through him. The stranger was dressed in a pair of dark green leggings and a dark brown tunic over a shirt of lighter brown. Brown leather boots graced his feet.

The man smiled, and it was like looking down the throat of a wolf. “Well, well, well, Mister Harry Potter. My Master has long wanted to make _your_ acquaintance.”

Harry did not quite level his wand at the man, but he raised it slightly in his direction. To Harry’s horror the man merely laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Potter—or may I call you Harry—your magic will not work here. Here you are in my Master’s realm and the only magic to hold sway is his…and mine. But how remiss of me.” The man peeled himself elegantly off the tree trunk and came towards Harry, holding out his hand. “I have not introduced myself. Flick, at your service, Mister Harry Potter.”

Harry stared at the proffered hand, and then, with no real option, he shook it briefly before releasing it as quickly as possible. Flick stood a little taller than Harry; blond hair the colour of corn in the sunshine grew close to his head in little elf-licks around ears that seemed rather more pointed than normal. His body was lithe, and he moved like a dancer, all grace and poise. But it was his eyes that made Harry swallow hard…for they were black, completely black, with no hint of white. Like pools of darkness, like the flat gaze of a snake.

Harry took a step back. “I…I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. “I didn’t know I was trespassing. I’m sort of lost…if you could just point me back towards the Riddle house, if you know it?”

The man spat, and an ugly expression briefly marred his face. “Speak not of that lair of vipers,” he said shortly. 

“Well, perhaps I’ll just go back the way I came,” Harry tried again, taking another step backwards.

Flick stalked him.

“Oh, Harry, why in such a hurry to go? My Master would not forgive me if I was not to offer you the hospitality of his halls…and you wouldn’t want poor Flick to be punished, now would you?”

Despite the man’s earlier words, Harry tried to Apparate away. Nothing. But Flick was somehow aware of his intention. A look of hurt came over his face. “You _would_ see poor Flick punished? Come, Harry, there is no need to run away, you are not meant any harm…my Master merely wishes to thank you for your part in ridding the world of Tom Riddle—may his soul wander comfortless for millennia.”

Harry turned his options over in his mind. He could make a run for it—but he was unsure how long or how far he would have to run to make it back to a place his magic would work, and he didn’t actually fancy his chances of outrunning Flick, for there was no doubt the man would try to catch him. And if he did make a run for it, and Flick caught him and made Harry return with him to visit his master, then he would certainly get off on the wrong foot with this master by having turned down his offer of hospitality in the first place. Or he could go along with Flick, and hope like hell that he really meant what he said about Harry not being in any danger.

It really was a choice of the lesser of two evils. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’d be honoured to meet your master—but I’d better not be too long, or my friends will miss me.”

Flick smiled. “Excellent. Come, let me lead you.” He whistled sharply, and the bird that had flown across Harry’s path swooped down from the branch it had been perched on, and came to rest on Flick’s shoulder. It was a jay. It cocked its head in Harry’s direction and regarded him with beady black eyes. 

Flick led the way through the trees at a quick pace, as if he had taken Harry at his word about not wanting to be too long. The trees became even denser around them, and Harry got the impression that they were of a great age, the beeches huge, towering pillars of grey green trunks and the oaks, twisted and knurled like old men. The atmosphere around them had changed; it was no longer light and airy, but close and almost dusty feeling, as if the very air itself was ancient. Harry noticed that the birdsong had ceased…and wondered if, had he been paying attention earlier, this fact would have alerted him to danger.

They came out into a clearing in the woods, in the centre of which stood the largest tree Harry had ever seen. It towered over them, its branches like tree trunks, a canopy of green leaves spreading over nearly the entire open area. Flick walked to the trunk of the great tree and placed his hand on the bark. 

It was as if something inside the tree were bursting out: the bark peeled back, curling at the edges, to reveal an entrance. Flick gestured to Harry to precede him. Reluctantly, Harry entered the doorway and started down the stairs he found within that spiralled down into the darkness.

Flick followed him inside, and then all light disappeared as the bark of the tree closed behind them. But the pitch black didn’t last for long. Suddenly, all down the wall of the steps, lights appeared, formed, it seemed, out of some sort of luminous fungus. Flick pushed passed Harry, and they wound their way down into the earth.

Gradually Harry began to detect the faint sound of voices, and a stronger light shone from below them around a corner of the stairway.

“Stay here a moment, if you please?” Flick asked. Then he darted away around the last bend.

The voices suddenly ceased, and then Harry could hear Flick’s clear voice ring out.

“Master and Mistress, gentlefolk of the Greenwood, see what clever Flick has found wandering in our kingdom, Mister Harry Potter.”

Taking this as his cue, Harry descended the last few steps around the last corner…and found himself in a vast cavern.

In the centre of the space was a long table, around which were seated many men and women, all dressed in similar attire to Flick: greens, browns, golds and reds the primary colours. A great quantity of food was spread out over the table, and it seemed to Harry that he had interrupted a great feast. At one end of the table were two throne-like chairs, and the occupant of one of these rose to his feet and came towards Harry, a smile of welcome crinkling the corners of vivid blue eyes in a handsome, bearded face. 

“Well, what an unexpected pleasure. Mister Harry Potter, welcome to my halls.” He held out a broad, brown hand to Harry, who proffered his own in return with slightly more enthusiasm that he had with Flick.

“Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

“Sir? Sir?” The man threw back his head and laughed. “I am no _sir_ …you may call me Robin, young Harry. Now come and meet my wife.” Throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders, Robin drew Harry towards the other throne at the end of the table. 

The lady seated there was more beautiful than any Harry had ever seen. She had clear, lightly tanned skin and eyes that were as green as a young beech leaf. Conker-brown hair fell in waves down past her waist, and it shone with a thousand lights of gold and red. She smiled as Harry approached, and held out her hand. Without a trace of embarrassment, Harry bowed over the slim, long-fingered hand and dropped a reverent kiss on the back of it. “My lady.”

She laughed—a sound like the bubbling water. “Please, Harry, let’s have no formality between friends. You shall call me Jennet, and I shall call you Harry. Come, be seated by me and we shall talk.”

Taking the place that had been created for him, Harry seated himself at the table, feeling decidedly more relaxed. Robin and Jennet seemed like friendly people and they put Harry at ease. He was more than happy to help himself to the victuals on the table before him when bidden to do so, and between mouthfuls he recounted the story of his defeat of Voldemort, and answered any questions that Robin and Jennet asked. 

Harry was able to examine his surroundings only cursorily during the conversation, and he deduced that the great cave was situated directly below the huge tree above, as thick roots snaked down the walls like some kind of bizarre decorations. The hard earth floor was covered here and there with mats that appeared to be made of platted rushes. There were several dogs in the room, and at first Harry was rather nervous of them; they were huge, grey, shaggy wolfhounds with jaws that looked as if they were well capable of swallowing one’s head whole.

Robin had poured Harry a goblet of wine that tasted like honey and fresh air, which he soon drained. Jennet laughed and poured Harry another. Before too long he began to feel very mellow and contented. The room seemed to fade in and out around him and he realised the wine must be far more potent than he had at first thought. But, as is often the case, by the time he had realised it, Harry just wanted to go with the flow, finding his inebriation amusing. In fact, he found everything amusing. He laughed at the stories Robin and Jennet told, he laughed uproariously at Flick’s antics when the man turned jester to amuse the company, his previously fear and antipathy forgotten in his drunken bonhomie. 

A man entered the room, and hurried to Robin’s side. After a brief whispered conversation, he then turned and left. Robin called for the attention of the assembled throng. “My friends, it seems we have more unexpected guests come to visit us here in the greenwood.”

A commotion from the direction of the stairs had everyone craning to see what was amiss, Harry included.

Two figures were hustled unceremoniously into the hall. The first, Harry recognised.

“Looshus,” he called excitedly. To Harry’s mind all he had needed to make the party perfect was his lover. All memories of why he was here in the first place had disappeared from his head.

Lucius shot Harry a furious look, and then returned his attention to Robin, who had risen from his seat, and was now stood in front of Lucius and the hooded figure by Lucius’ side.

“I am Lucius Malfoy, and I pray forgiveness for this interruption, but I come to petition for release of Harry Potter,” Lucius said formally.

“Release?” Robin queried with a frown. “You intimate that you believe Harry is being held against his will.”

There was a murmur of anger from those seated at the long table.

“As you can see,” Robin turned and directed Lucius’ attention to Harry, “Mister Potter is a guest at our table…and therefore in no need of _release_ , as you put it.”

Lucius eyes flicked once more to Harry then back to Robin. “I apologise if my words caused offence…”

“They did,” Robin interrupted. “Indeed, I am very offended, for three reasons: firstly you enter my kingdom uninvited; secondly, you accuse me of imprisoning one of my _guests_.” Robin stressed the word. “And finally, you do not even have the courtesy to introduce your companion to us.”

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but the figure at his side placed a hand on his arm, then lowered the hood that concealed his face.

Robin’s attitude changed completely. He bowed. “My lord, we are honoured by your presence. My apologies for not recognising you.”

“And should I take offence at your unwitting oversight?” Raif asked mildly, “In the same way that you have taken offence over words not meant to offend?”

“I humbly ask your forgiveness, my lord.”

“I rather feel that it is Lucius Malfoy’s forgiveness you should be begging for.”

Somewhat reluctantly Robin turned to Lucius. “I beg your pardon for my…my abruptness.” He bowed slightly.

Lucius acknowledged the apology with a nod of his head.

Robin turned back to Raif. “Whilst it is always a pleasure to see you, my lord, may I ask what it is that brings you into our halls? If I might be so bold?”

“I have come to accompany your _guest_ home to his own world. To make sure he journeys there _safely_.”

“I see,” Robin said slowly, his gaze travelling to Harry. “But then we have only just made Harry Potter’s acquaintance, and I’m sure you can understand our reluctance to cut short such a _friendship_ before we have really got to know one another.”

“The hospitality of your halls is legendary, Robin, but in this case I must ask that you allow us to escort Mister Potter home.”

Robin seemed to ponder the request before speaking. “It is rare that the Tuatha concern themselves with the doings of men,” he mused. It was as near as possible to Robin saying ‘mind your own business’ without actually doing so. “May your humble servant ask why you are concerning yourself with the fate of one such?”

Raif was silent for a moment and then he said, “Lucius Abraxus Malfoy is bound to me, therefore what is his is mine.”

A fearful look stole over Robin’s face. “My lord…I had no idea.”

“There was no reason you should. My business is my own…until I am _forced_ to reveal it.” Raif’s voice had risen in anger, and Robin cringed before him.

“My lord, once more I beg your forgiveness. Of course, Mister Potter is free to leave…whenever _he_ chooses.”

Raif nodded. “So be it.” He turned to Harry. “Well, Harry, are you ready to go home?”

There was far more going on here than Harry’s drink-muddled brain could fathom, but he was aware that it was very important that _he_ make the decision to leave. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and turned to Jennet. “Thank you very much for having me. It was very nice.” 

Jennet nodded at Harry, but she did not smile.

Harry made his way towards Robin, Raif and Lucius. He stopped before Robin. “Thank you very much for having me,” he repeated, and held out his hand. Robin shook it briefly; he too did not smile.

Raif took Harry’s arm, and, with Lucius following behind them, he led the way back up the spiral steps to the surface. Once outside, before Harry had time to speak, Raif transported them back to Durmstrang. In a few seconds Harry found himself in Lucius’ rooms. Raif disappeared, and then returned, this time with Lucius.

Harry opened his mouth to speak.

“You little fool,” Lucius said viciously. “What is it with you? That you must always go charging into danger, with no thought? Time and time again others have to risk their own safety for you? Is life simply not exciting enough for you?”

He would have gone on, but Raif laid a quelling hand on Lucius’ arm. “Lucius, please. I really don’t think Harry stepped into the greenwood on purpose, did you, Harry?”

Before Harry had a chance to reply, Lucius broke in again. “And what the hell were you doing there in the first place? Sneaking off without a word to anyone?”

“Lucius!” Raif’s raised voice halted Lucius’ tirade once more. “I do think we should give Harry chance to explain.”

“Fine,” Lucius stormed. “I’ll leave _you_ to listen to his pathetic excuses.” With that, Lucius whirled round and stormed into his bedroom, banging the door behind him.

“Oh dear,” drawled a voice from a chair by the fire. “Trouble in paradise, Potter? Do make sure you don’t catch a chill from my father’s cold shoulder. Oh, no, wait, that’s a lie…I hope you catch pneumonia and die!” Draco got to his feet, and with a smirk at Harry, went into his own bedroom.

Harry and Raif gazed silently after him. 

“I had forgotten just what a poisonous little brat Draco can be,” Raif said with feeling.

“I hadn’t,” Harry commented glumly.

Raif turned to him. “Come on, we need to sober you up. Fresh air and plenty of water.”

“Can’t I just have a sober-up potion?” Harry asked.

Raif shook his head. “You have supped the wine of the greenwood—your wizards’ potions hold no sway over the potency of _that_ brew.”

Harry turned his attention to the door to Lucius’ bedroom. “Maybe I’d better…” he began hesitantly.

Raif shook his head. “Lucius is angry, but it is an anger born of the fear he felt for your safety. Give him time to calm down, to accept that you are safe. Then we will talk with him.”

“I really didn’t mean to get into trouble,” Harry said piteously.

“I know,” Raif said reassuringly. “Come on, you’ll feel better once we have rid your system of greenwood wine.”

He led the way from Lucius’ rooms up to the top of the East Tower. Harry staggered under the force of the wind, but his head began to feel clearer almost straight away. One thing struck him immediately. “It’s dark!” he exclaimed. “It was early morning when I got to Severus’...how long have I been away?” he asked fearfully.

“It is now Sunday, just before midnight. Time in the greenwood flows differently to our own.”

Raif conjured up a jug of icy-cold water and a goblet, and made Harry drink two cups of it straight down, then he found them a more sheltered corner, conjured up a pair of seats, and sat Harry down.

“So, do you want to tell me what happened?” Raif asked.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’d gone to see Severus,” he began. “Oh,” he exclaimed, suddenly remembering the purpose of his visit to his old professor. His face screwed up at the recollection.

“Harry?”

“I,” Harry gasped, close to tears. “Something Draco said…I had to, oh, Raif.”

“Whatever is it, Harry?” Raif asked, the concern evident on his face.

“Draco said…Draco said…” Harry struggled to get the words out. “Draco said he and Lucius had slept together,” he said in a rush.

Raif frowned. “What on earth would make him say something like that?”

The conversation was engraved on Harry’s memory with letters of fire. “He was saying that I wasn’t necessary, that he was all his father needed. I said, ‘So you’re going to sleep with him as well, are you?’, and he said, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time’.”

“You used those exact words?” Raif demanded, “ _Sleep_ with him?”

Harry nodded...and then he let out a breath. “Merlin, I’ve been really stupid, haven’t I? Draco meant exactly that, didn’t he, that he had _slept_ with Lucius, not that he’d had, well, _sex_ with him?”

“He used your euphemism against you. He knew that if you did go to Lucius with the allegation, it would end your relationship...and yet he himself was in the clear if you accused him of saying he’d had sex with his father. He would have denied it categorically; he had in fact only admitted to _sleeping_ with Lucius.” 

Raif passed a hand over his face and Harry suddenly thought how tired the man looked. “I have no doubt that Lucius and Draco were forced to share a bed on numerous occasions when they were on the run, money was in short supply.”

“He stitched me up good and proper, didn’t he? The little bastard,” Harry added viciously.

“Did you really think Lucius capable of such a deed?” Raif asked quietly.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Not really...but Draco sounded so sincere that there was just a tiny part of me that almost believed him...and I couldn’t rest with even that small an element of doubt.”

“So, what drove you to England?” Raif asked after a few minutes’ silence.

“I went to ask Severus if it was true, but when I got there he was out, so I went for a walk, hoping he might have returned from wherever he’d gone by the time I got back to the cottage. Then I met Flick, and he said his master wanted to meet me. I didn’t want to go with him but my wand didn’t work, and I couldn’t Apparate so I had no choice. But then Robin and Jennet were so nice and friendly—although Flick scared me at first.”

“Ah, Flick the Jester,” Raif said slowly. “I do not wonder that you were scared of him; your senses told you right. He could have treated you like an honoured guest one day—the next he could have proposed they hound you to your death, a hunt through the woods to entertain his master and mistress.”

Harry remembered the huge dogs, and shivered. “And Robin and Jennet would have agreed?” he asked, appalled.

Raif refilled Harry’s goblet. He took a deep breath. “Robin and Jennet and Flick—and all of their kin—are not of this world, Harry. For all they appear as we do, their natures are very different from ours. They are merciless, without kindness. Had you stayed much longer with them, you would have had to remain with them always: forever an inhabitant of the greenwood. Already you were fading out of our world, becoming more substantial in theirs.”

“I felt sort of hazy, safe, as if all my worries had gone away.”

“The wine of the greenwood is strong. It gets into your mind and your heart, weaves its way into your body, and flows in your veins until you are numb with it, cushioned from the real world by it. Until you no longer care about anything or anybody.”

“And they wanted to keep me there?”

Raif nodded. “A new _guest_ is always welcome—at first. They bring new stories, new entertainment.”

Another thought occurred to Harry. “Did I have to _want_ to leave?”

“Indeed. Whilst I hold some sway over Robin and his kin, the laws regarding their rights to keep those who trespass in their woods are unbreakable. So you can see it is a good job we got to you when we did. Had you drunk much more of their wine, your will to leave would have been like gossamer on the wind.”

“How did you know where I was?” Harry asked.

“The old magic is stirring once more: for now it flows slowly, like a great wide river. Those who move within the old magic are…are like fish in the river: they create eddies and ripples as they move. Your arrival in the greenwood was akin to a pebble being dropped into the river—those ripples spread, and eventually came to me.”

Silence fell between them for several minutes, until Harry remembered something else. He frowned. “Raif?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“What did you mean…when you said you and Lucius were… _bound_?”

Raif was silent for so long that Harry began to think the man wasn’t going to answer his question. But finally he spoke. “Firstly, Harry, I want you to understand that what I am about to tell you has no bearing upon your relationship with Lucius.” He paused.

“Go on,” Harry prompted, despite becoming increasingly convinced that he didn’t actually want to hear what Raif was about to tell him.

Raif took a deep breath. “You have realised, Harry, that Lucius and I have a very close relationship…we were, in fact, lovers.”

“Were?” Harry demanded.

“Were,” Raif stressed. “Many years ago, when Lucius was younger, before he married, our love for one another was very great. I had not felt that way about anyone before, never during my long life had anyone called to my soul so strongly. We did what we both felt was right at the time: we spoke words of binding to one another.”

“Like a marriage?” Harry asked huskily.

“In some respects,” Raif said slowly. 

Harry surged to his feet, only to be pulled back down into his chair by Raif. “Please let me finish, Harry.”

“What’s the point?” Harry said bitterly. “You and Lucius are married, at least, I presume you are still married?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.

“We are, but if you will let me explain, Harry, I was about to say that in other respects the ceremony of binding is very different—for instance, it does not preclude relationships with others. It is more...this is difficult for me to explain to you, Harry...”

“Try,” Harry ordered shortly.

Raif sighed. “Very well. The binding ceremony is about love, companionship, protection, friendship... It is a ceremony that can be made between close companions as well as lovers—indeed, no sex needs to be involved at all. It is like a promise to be there for one another, to offer support, to offer love, to offer friendship...always. And whilst in the early days of our binding Lucius and I were lovers, latterly our relationship changed into one of deep and abiding friendship.”

“So,” Harry said, wanting to be perfectly clear, “you don’t sleep together anymore?”

“Not for many years.”

“But you are still in love?” Harry queried, wishing he had not felt the need to ask.

“Yes,” Raif said simply. “My love for Lucius will never die. It burns as brightly today as it always did.”

“But how can you bear to see him with someone else…with me?”

Raif smiled. “Actually, Lucius’ relationship with you has brought me great joy. I had despaired of him ever finding happiness with another.”

“Would you…would you go back to him if he asked you to?” Harry forced the words out, dreading the answer.

Raif shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “There may come a time when Lucius and I will be together again in that way, but believe me, Harry, as long as you and he are in a relationship I would not contemplate taking him to my bed...unless you came also.”

It took Harry a second or two to grasp what Raif meant, and then he blushed.

Raif laughed. “Surely you have been aware of my interest in you?” he teased, his ice-blue eyes intent on Harry.

“N...no, not really,” Harry stammered. “I just thought of you as one of Lucius’ friends.”

“I hope you will go on thinking of me in that way, Harry. And I should be honoured if you will think of me as one of _your_ friends also.”

Harry thought about that, then he said, “I suppose I already do. I can’t see me spilling my guts to just anyone the way I have with you.”

“That’s good, then. Come, drink some more water, then I think you had better go and beard the lion in his den.”

Harry pulled a face. “Maybe I’d better wait until tomorrow?”

“I think now would be better. I truly don’t think it will as bad as you think; Lucius’ anger was a product of his fear for you, nothing more.”

Harry swigged down the last of his water, took a deep breath, and got to his feet. “Right. I’ll go, then.” He took two paces towards the stairway, and then stopped and turned back. “Raif?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Thanks...for being there...and for saving me...and for being honest about you and Lucius.”

“I shall always be here for you, Harry, remember that.”

Harry smiled his thanks and then turned away once more and disappeared down the stairs.


	10. Reconciliations

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

Reconciliations

Harry tapped quietly on the door to Lucius’ bedroom. After a moment—and getting no response—he took a deep breath, his life into his hands, and tried the handle. The door opened, and Harry slipped inside, and silently closed it behind him.

Lucius was seated on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, hands clasped between his knees.

Harry didn’t say anything; he simply crossed the room and, kneeling at Lucius’ feet, laid his cheek against Lucius’ thigh. Lucius made no move to touch him, nor did he speak.

After a while Harry said quietly, “I’m sorry…I really didn’t mean to get into trouble. Thank you for coming for me.”

Lucius let out a deep breath. “I have spent so many years being afraid for those I love…I just can’t do it anymore.”

“I don’t go _looking_ for trouble.”

“Perhaps not.” A hand gently stroked Harry’s hair. “But you do seem to have a propensity for _finding_ it.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? So that must mean I’m also pretty good at getting _out_ of trouble.”

“Not this time,” Lucius said harshly. “I could have lost you...”

“But you didn’t. I’m here, and I’m safe.” Harry got to his feet. “Feel me,” he ordered. “Touch me, see for yourself.” He ducked, and kissed Lucius hard. Then placing a hand in the middle of his lover’s chest, he pushed Lucius back down onto the bed, and covered Lucius’ body with his own.

“Feel me,” he repeated, then demanded Lucius’ lips again. 

Finally Lucius began to respond; with a groan of need, he rolled them over on the bed until Harry was beneath him, then he took over the kiss, his tongue pushing into Harry’s mouth, his arms tight around Harry’s body.

Harry arched up desperately as he felt Lucius’ erection push against his own. With fumbling fingers, he dragged Lucius’ shirt out of the waistband of his trousers until he could insinuate his hands under the loose material. He sighed into Lucius’ mouth as his fingers encountered the smooth, firm flesh of his lover’s back. Harry ran his hands sensuously over the silky skin, delighting in the feel of the ripple of muscles when Lucius shifted his weight onto one elbow and used his free hand to ruck up the material of Harry’s tee-shirt. Then the slim fingers were teasing and pinching at Harry’s already pebbled nipples.

Harry pressed up against the touch, at the same time pulling Lucius closer.

They writhed together on the bed, thrusting, rutting against one another, until, with a hoarse cry, Lucius sprang off the bed.

Harry gasped at the sudden loss of warmth, and then caught his breath: Lucius was standing in the middle of the room, quickly and efficiently stripping off his clothing. The look that burned in his eyes was pure lust, and Harry lost no time in ridding himself of his own clothing, dropping it carelessly to the floor.

Then Lucius was on him. Warm, firm flesh sliding together, oiled with gathering sweat. Lucius kissed Harry, then trailed a series of bites down the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck. Harry’s nipples were next to receive attention from Lucius’ hot mouth, and he cried out as teeth nipped carefully at the responsive nubs of flesh, before they were each in turn sucked into saliva-slick wetness.

Harry cried out. The sensation of his nipples having such attention lavished on them, coupled with the feel of Lucius’ hard cock thrusting against his own, sending him into orbit. He slid his hands down Lucius’ broad back, then went further, to cup and knead his lover’s firm buttocks, pressing Lucius down upon him. Daringly, Harry brushed his fingertips in the crevice between the rounded cheeks, tracing over the secret entrance to Lucius’ body.

Harry felt a stir of breath on his heated skin as Lucius mouthed the lubrication spell. Quickly he brought up his legs and wrapped them around Lucius’ hips, presenting himself to his lover’s cock. With one hard thrust, Lucius seated himself inside Harry’s body, crying out against the warm curve of Harry’s neck as he did so. He stilled.

Harry removed one of his hands from Lucius’ buttocks and slipped a finger into his own mouth, carefully coating the digit with saliva.

Lucius raised his head and watched him, his eyes narrowed. Very deliberately Harry withdrew his finger, glistening with moisture, and then lowered it to Lucius’ entrance.

Lucius withdrew nearly all the way from Harry’s body, and then thrust in again. His eyes challenged Harry…Harry rose to the challenge. Carefully, before the saliva had time to dry, Harry gently probed the tight whorl of muscle. At first he thought Lucius wasn’t going to yield to him, and then the guardian ring gave way, and his finger slipped into the intense heat of Lucius’ body.

Lucius sucked in a breath, and for a moment his eyes closed. Then he slowly pulled out of Harry, pressing himself back on the invading digit. It was such erotic sight that Harry nearly lost it then and there. Lucius was beautiful like this: his head thrown back; ice-blonde hair wild and tangled; all tension gone from his face; lost in the throes of passion. He wriggled his finger, searching for that spot within Lucius’ body…and was rewarded by a howl of pleasure when he found it.

Lucius began to thrust hard and fast, his inward strokes reaming Harry to the core, his outwards ones thrusting back onto Harry’s finger within him.

Harry tightened his legs around Lucius’ hips, hauling his lover close so that Lucius’ belly rubbed hard over Harry’s cock on each impulse. The bed rocked beneath their frantic coupling, and Harry began to gasp out Lucius’ name as his orgasm raced towards him. With one last thrust, Lucius buried himself deep in Harry, before stilling, then his body went rigid, and with a loud cry he came, his ejaculate shooting far into Harry’s insides.

Harry nearly screamed in frustration. He had been so near to climax, and now the intense stimulation of his cock had suddenly ceased. Only a few more thrusts and he would have been there.

Lucius withdrew from Harry’s body, then, before Harry was really aware of what he was doing, he had manoeuvred down the bed between Harry’s splayed thighs, taken Harry’s needy cock into his mouth, and sucked.

Harry let out a gasp of joy…and then came, pumping his come into Lucius’ mouth.

They lay, panting for breath and sheened with sweat, until Lucius groaned. “I’m getting too damn old for this,” he complained as he crawled back up the bed, and got himself and Harry under the covers.

“Rot,” Harry said firmly. “Although,” he added with a grin, “if you want _me_ to be in the saddle, so to speak, next time, I don’t mind.”

Lucius laughed. “I shall certainly give it some consideration.” He yawned. “Now go to sleep. I have a lesson first thing in the morning.”

Harry, catching the yawing bug, let out one of his own. He felt warm, contented and thoroughly shagged out. The sex might have been hard and fast, but it had been just how he had wanted it. He allowed himself a tiny, smug grin at the thought of the noise he and Lucius must have made…especially in the light of their next door neighbour. Still smiling he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, cradled in Lucius’ arms. 

 

****

****

The first person Harry saw on exiting Lucius’ bedroom the following morning was Draco. If looks could have killed, Harry would have been dead on the floor, shot through with a dozen arrows of hate. Knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop himself, Harry bid Draco a cheery, “Good morning.” Then he put on a puzzled expression. “I don’t know what you were going on about last night—about your dad having a cold shoulder—he’s so damn hot I have scorch marks on my arse!” With a merry wave, he took himself off to breakfast, leaving a spluttering, furious Draco in his wake.

 

****

****

“Lucius?”

Well aware of the portent of that particular tone, Lucius quickly finished correcting the parchment of homework he was working on, wiped clean his quill, and laid it neatly on his desk. “Yes?” he queried discouragingly.

They were in Harry’s rooms, Lucius seated at the desk, marking his students’ work, and Harry by the fire, ostensibly flicking through the latest edition of Quidditch Monthly. In fact, he had not read a word for the past fifteen minutes.

“You know this bond thing between you and Raif?”

“Yes,” Lucius said, the tone of his voice suggesting even more strongly that it would be as well for Harry to drop the subject.

“Well, if it’s supposed to be a promise to love and support and be there for one another if one of you gets into trouble…then how come Raif didn’t help you with Narcissa and Draco—and you, for that matter—when you needed him?”

Lucius got to his feet and went to stand looking out of the window. His expression was troubled.

Harry watched him, knowing better than to repeat his question. Lucius would answer when and if he was ready to.

Finally Lucius let out a sigh. “What exactly did Raif say to you, Harry, about the bond?”

Harry thought back to the time three nights ago. “He said that ages ago, before you were married, you loved one another very much and that you decided to perform this ceremony, a whole lot of promises to one another—love, protection, support, that kind of thing. But surely he broke his promise when he didn’t come to help you when you needed him.”

Lucius didn’t answer Harry’s question; instead he asked another one of his own. “What precisely did Severus tell you about Raif?”

“That he was some sort of god, that he’s pretty nearly immortal, that he’s really old, that he came from a race of people called the…the…” Harry struggled to remember what Snape had said.

“The Tuatha de Dannan,” Lucius supplied.

“Yeah, and…erm, he’s very powerful, but his magic is different than ours, and he doesn’t need to say words or use a wand or anything. I can’t think of anything else,” Harry finished.

“So, he didn’t tell you that Raif should not really have anything to do with humans if his actions might in any way change the course of history?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, suddenly remembering.

“Well, then.”

“But why did he make all those promises if he couldn’t keep them?” Harry demanded.

“He shouldn’t have,” Lucius snapped. “But he went against his own people’s laws to make them to me. And until he was forced to reveal it—to save _you_ —the bond was a secret between us.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, made nervous by the anger in Lucius’ voice.

“The words of binding are not just a few random words spoken on a whim...they contain strong magic. The fact of our binding will spread to others, to those whom it would have been better for us if they had not known of it.”

“But what does it matter?”

Lucius whirled around. “It matters because it means that either one of us can be placed in a position which might be used to manipulate the other.”

Harry thought about that. “I see. You might be forced to do something to honour the words of the bond?”

“Yes,” Lucius said shortly. He paced the room, pausing every now and then to fiddle with things. 

Harry watched him nervously. Finally he summoned up the courage to ask, “So the reason Raif didn’t help you with Voldemort was because he couldn’t interfere?”

“No.” Lucius flung himself into the chair opposite Harry’s.

“No, he couldn’t interfere?” Harry repeated, wanting to be quite sure he had got things right.

“No!” Lucius all but shouted. “He didn’t help because I denied him his _right_ to.” He swept a hand over his face.

“What do you mean?”

“He…ah, he warned me about V…Voldemort, went as far as he could to dissuade me from becoming involved. But I was young, foolish and headstrong. I disagreed with Raif, told him he didn’t know what he was talking about…”

“Brave of you, considering how long he’s lived and how much he must know.”

Lucius shot a Harry an angry look. “Anyway, things became rather heated and I, and I…” he trailed off, the expression on his face one of misery, as he obviously recalled the old memories. “I told him to go,” Lucius added sadly. “Told him to mind his own business and go: that I never wanted to see him again, I relieved him of all his obligations as far as our binding went.”

“So, you broke the vows between you?” Harry asked carefully.

Lucius shook his head. “The vows we made are for life; they bind us together until one of us dies, they cannot be dissolved or broken.”

“Then why did he do as you said? Why didn’t the vows _force_ him to help you?”

“They were vows he should never have made in the first place.”

“Then why did he?”

“Because we love each other.” 

There was a lengthy silence. Harry couldn’t think of anything to say, and Lucius appeared lost in his memories. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Harry. “The vows cannot be broken, but they can in extreme circumstances, be, ah,” he paused, obviously searching for the right expression. “They can be _mitigated_ , by the pronouncement of certain words. I forced him out of my life, despite his pleading with me not to, and I have never regretted anything more.”

“But now you’re back together?”

Lucius smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry. Raif and I are friends again, but we are no longer lovers.”

“I know. Raif said so as well…but he did say there might come a time when you will be lovers again.”

“He did?” Lucius looked surprised.

It was Harry’s turn to grin. “Yeah, but he said that while you and I are together he wouldn’t go to bed with you…unless I came as well.”

Lucius let out a bark of laughter. “He said that, did he? Well, he can keep his thieving hands off you. You’re mine…and don’t you forget it.”

“Just so long as you don’t forget you’re mine as well.”

Lucius rose to his feet. “So, have I satisfied your curiosity?”

Harry nodded. “I think so, for now.”

“Twenty questions, just like usual,” Lucius muttered under his breath as he went back to the desk and his marking.

“I think you’ll find it was closer to fifteen,” Harry commented, picking up his discarded copy of Quidditch Monthly. 

 

****

****

Two weeks before the end of term, Lyra McCloud arrived at Durmstrang. An Ancient Runes student teacher, she was an immediate hit with both pupils and staff alike. All the staff, this is, except Lucius, who, for some reason, did not warm to her at all.

She was slim, petite, had white-blonde hair that flowed nearly to her waist—and caused more than one person to whisper at Veela heritage—violet-blue eyes that twinkled in a heart-shaped face, and she was a vivacious, charming, intelligent, witty person who was immense fun to be around.

Draco fell head over heels in love the moment he clapped eyes on her. What was strange—in Harry’s undoubtedly biased opinion—was that Lyra seemed to be equally smitten with Draco.

“You’re a star, just like me.” Draco was heard to pronounce sappily one morning at breakfast. Lucius had made gagging noises behind his copy of The London Prophet, whilst Harry, trying to stifle his own laughter, poked him hard in the ribs. 

“We are even next to each other in the sky,” Draco went on, staring dreamily at the object of his desire—and thus proving that Harry and his friends had been wrong when they’d once accused Draco of spending astronomy lessons not scanning the sky, but the contents of Pansy Parkinson’s blouse.

Harry was predisposed to liking Lyra, simply because she drew Draco’s attention away from he and Lucius. But Harry found that he actually liked her very much. 

“I’d go out with her myself,” Harry declared, before adding quickly—on catching sight of the darkening expression on Lucius’ face—“if I was into girls, which of course I’m not…and if I wasn’t totally in love with you.”

“Humph,” was Lucius’ only comment.

“I don’t know how you can’t like her? What’s not _to_ like?” Harry demanded.

“I don’t have to like everybody,” Lucius said pettishly.

Harry grinned. “You didn’t like me much at first…but now look at us.”

“There’s just something I can’t put my finger on. She looks almost familiar.”

“You mean she looks like a female version of Draco? Only with long hair? Yeah, I have heard the word “narcissist” bandied about.”

“And you knew what it meant?” Lucius asked infuriatingly.

Harry scowled at him. “I’m not completely ignorant, you know.”

Lucius held up a placatory hand. “I never said you were.”

“No, but you _insinuated_ that you thought I was.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Did.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“I refuse to continue with this pointless and childish argument,” Lucius said with finality, before adding under his breath, “Did not.”

Harry laughed. “Why can I never stay angry with you?”

“Must be my charm, wit, and devastating good looks.”

In the end, even Lucius, despite his unfounded reservations, had to admit that Lyra was good for Draco. His son had become, seemingly overnight, courteous, helpful, modest…and what was more, he even made some attempt to be pleasant to Harry.

Harry had nearly choked on his food when one evening Draco had said, “Could you please pass me the gravy, Harry?”

 

****

****

Harry and Lucius had been in a quandary as to what to do about the summer holidays, before Lyra arrived and caught Draco’s attention.

One the one hand they wanted to spend some quality time together—without having pupils constantly underfoot—on the other, Lucius was well aware that Draco was hardly tolerating the brief time he and Harry spent together as it was.

Harry himself wanted to take up the invitation to visit the Weasleys, as well as spend time with Lucius. And so it was that they both shared a great feeling of relief when Draco announced that Lyra had invited him to spend time with her during the summer holidays.

It was decided that Harry was to spend the first two weeks of the break at the Burrow with the Weasleys, whilst Draco and his father enjoyed some time on their own. Draco was then to go and visit Lyra at her home in France—albeit with some initial resistance from Lucius. 

“I don’t even _know_ her,” Lucius had protested.

“For goodness sake, Lucius, Draco is planning on _visiting_ her, not _marrying_ her,” Harry retorted with some exasperation.

“I’m still not sure Draco is ready...” Lucius had continued worriedly.

Harry’s only reply was to cluck quietly. 

In the end Lucius had agreed to Draco’s visit.

 

****

****

It was with some nervousness that Harry departed for the Burrow one sunny day towards the end of July. It had been quite some time since he had visited his friends, and there had been harsh words between them since then. Although Molly had begun to write to Harry on a regular basis once more, he could easily detect the censure in her words over he and Lucius’ relationship, and there was always the query “Are you still together?” in each and every missive.

Harry had deeply regretted the estrangement between himself and the Weasleys. They had been his only real family for so long that it was only his deep love for Lucius that had held him firm against the tide of their disapproval of his choice of partner. Ron’s visit to Durmstrang had been at once welcome and a deep relief to Harry; it had meant that the Weasleys were softening in their attitude towards Lucius...either that or they were becoming reconciled to Harry’s choice of the man as his lover. Harry knew that they would never be happy with Lucius, but he now had cause to hope that the man he loved would not be treated with the revulsion and contempt of before.

As he walked up the dusty track to the ramshackle old house, Harry was nearly overwhelmed by a feeling of coming home. Whilst the Burrow had never actually _been_ his home, it had been the place he had once felt the most _at_ home...and been the most welcome. He had always been treated as one of the family, and he felt tears prick his eyes as he once more trod the familiar path to the back door.

Almost before he could knock, it was jerked open, and he was enveloped in Molly Weasley’s ample bosom.

“Oh, Harry love, it’s good to see you.” Molly beamed at Harry, retaining her grip on his shoulders as she cast a critical eye over him. 

As Harry was well aware that he had in fact put _on_ weight since starting at Durmstrang, he was able to laugh when Molly tutted and declared that he looked thin. Then he was drawn into the warm kitchen that was fuggy with the delicious smells of cooking.

As usual, the place appeared as if it had recently been in the path of a hurricane. There were books, items of clothing, knitting, mending, cats, a broomstick maintenance kit, numerous photographs—that all smiled and waved at Harry—on every surface. 

Harry sank with a sigh of happiness onto one of the kitchen chairs, and grinned with pleasure as Molly pottered about putting on the kettle. Soon she placed a tray containing tea things and a plate full of biscuits on the table before Harry, and then seated herself across from him.

“The others will be in later,” she explained. “Arthur’s at the Ministry, of course. Bill and Fleur and their two little ones are coming for supper. Ron’ll be back from Quidditch training in about an hour—he’s been so looking forward to seeing you again. Well, we all have, of course.” Molly busied herself preparing the tea and forcing biscuits onto Harry. “Ginny’ll be here later, although she doesn’t think she’ll be here in time to eat with us. She’s still with the Dublin Dominators, you know?”

Harry nodded, his mouth full of biscuit.

“And George and Brenda will be joining us,” Molly went on. She smiled suddenly. “I think that just possibly they may be going to make an _announcement_.”

“That’s great,” Harry said through a mouthful of crumbs. “She seemed really nice when I met her last year.”

“Oh, she is,” Molly enthused. “And she’s been so good for George...he was lost after, after Fred...you know.”

There was a few moments’ silence as they both sipped their tea, then Molly put down her mug. “So, Harry love, how are things with you?”

_In other words_ , Harry thought, _are you and Lucius still together?_

“Everything’s great. I’ve really settled in well at school...I’ve been there over a year now, almost one of the old timers!” he joked.

Molly nodded. “That’s good, Harry. We’re so pleased you’ve found a job you like. And the other staff members? You said in your letters that you’ve made several friends.”

“They’re a great bunch on the whole. We all go down to the local inn together, and we have a Friday night get-together in one of the other teacher’s rooms. It’s nice, kind of like having an extended family.”

“And L...Lucius?”

Harry decided to put Molly out of her misery. “Lucius is fine. We’re still very much together, and I still love him. Draco is a lot better, as well.”

Molly looked startled. “Draco?” she echoed.

Harry frowned. “You did know about Draco, didn’t you?”

“Well, we found out, of course, that he was not dead after all, but hiding with Lucius at Durmstrang.”

“But you didn’t know what happened to him?”

Molly shook her head. “What do you mean?”

Harry swallowed hard, and proceeded to tell Molly about the torture that Draco had undergone before Lucius had rescued him. “Anyway,” he concluded, “he’s back at school now, and seems pretty well. He doesn’t remember anything that, that _happened_ , but most of his other memories have been restored.”

Molly was appalled. “That poor lad. I mean, I never liked him…he was an arrogant little…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t, not after what he suffered. And Lucius was caring for him, you say?”

Harry nodded. “He had a really tough time at first, as well. He knew they were both being hunted, by both Voldemort’s supporters and the Aurors, and he had nowhere to go, and no money. It was just lucky that a teacher’s position came up at Durmstrang, and he knew Vlad. Although,” Harry added with a wry chuckle, “Lucius said he would never have applied for the job if he hadn’t considered himself capable of doing it.”

Molly was still shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. Who would have thought? So Lucius Malfoy does have a caring bone in his body.”

Harry looked solemnly at Molly. “He does. He cares very deeply for those he loves.”

“And, and he loves _you_?” The question was tentatively asked.

Harry smiled. “Yes, Molly, I truly believe he does. I mean, we have our arguments the same as everyone else, and there are days I could cheerfully throttle him…”

Molly laughed. “Oh, I have plenty of those myself with Arthur, even after all the time we’ve been married.”

“But, yes. He loves me, and I love him, very much.”

Molly reached across the table and clasped Harry’s hand. “I’m pleased for you, Harry, really. I can’t say it’ll be easy, accepting him, after what he did, but if he makes you happy, that’s what matters. Perhaps next time you visit, you can bring him with you.”

Harry broke into a beam of pure joy. “Oh, Molly, you don’t know how much that would mean to me…to both of us.”

Molly patted his hand, and then got to her feet. “Well, supper won’t cook itself, I’d best get on.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Harry offered.

Molly shook her head. “No, love. You go and unpack your bag—you’re in with Ron as usual—get yourself settled in.”

Harry drained the last of his tea and then collected the tray and took it to the sink. Just as he was about to turn away, Molly caught hold of his arm. “I’m glad we had this time to chat, Harry. I feel, I feel a lot better about, _things_.”

“So do I,” Harry replied. “It’s so good to be back here, Molly. I’ve missed you, and everyone.” He gave Molly a quick hug, which she returned, and then he left her to her dinner preparations and went upstairs to unpack.

 

****

****

Harry had to admit that he had felt a certain amount of nervousness at the prospect of meeting the rest of the Weasley clan; after all, he knew Arthur was still angry at the way Harry had manipulated him into granting a pardon for Lucius and Draco. Harry hadn’t seen the rest of the family since the previous summer when he had visited, and Lucius had been his closely guarded secret.

In the end it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. Arthur was stand-offish with him for the first couple of days, but even he soon forgot his anger and went back to being Harry’s surrogate father. The rest of the Weasleys seemed simply glad to have Harry back with them, and the subject of whom he was having a relationship with never came up.

George and Brenda, much to everyone’s delight, announced they were going to get married, and there was much discussion amongst the Weasley women-folk about wedding dresses and flowers and cakes and receptions. The men-folk, when conversation began to drift in this direction, rapidly made themselves scarce.

Harry spent time with Ron, going to practices and matches with him. It was simple to fall back into their old relationship, easy-going and non-demanding. They talked late into the nights, and it was only to Ron that Harry spoke of his relationship with Lucius. 

He also went to Ireland with Ginny, to watch her play for the Dublin Dominators. It was a fun time; he met the rest of team, and also the young man whom Ginny was now going out with. Mark was a tall, bespectacled man, dark-haired, and with a serious demeanour. Harry was at first surprised that he had attracted such a live-wire as Ginny, until, that is, he saw them together. Mark cherished Ginny, without smothering her, and in her company he displayed a hitherto un-guessed at sense of humour, delivered in a deadpan style that had those about him creased with laughter.

George took Harry with him to Diagon Alley on a couple of occasions, back to the shop where the ever-spreading Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes empire had begun. For such a mad-cap youth, George had made a surprisingly good businessman, and a percentage of his profits went to swell Harry’s already healthy bank account. Harry had protested time and again that he didn’t expect anything in return for the money he had originally given Fred and George, but George was insistent, and so Harry remained a sleeping partner in the business.

Charlie made a flying visit from Romania, and an impromptu feast was organised. There was a lot of drink flowing, and later, out in the garden, Charlie—who had consumed rather more than his fair share of alcohol—admitted to Harry that he was also gay, and that he believed Harry would be far better off with him than Lucius. Harry managed to be gentle in his rebuttal of the offer, and when Charlie left to go back to his dragons the following day—albeit with a stinking hangover—they were still friends.

The two weeks flew by and Harry couldn’t believe it when the time came for him to say goodbye to everyone. But at the same time he was missing Lucius like mad and longed to be back in his lover’s arms. 

Molly and Arthur went with him to London to the IFC, and bid him a safe and speedy journey. 

“Come and see us again soon, Harry,” Molly insisted as she hugged Harry hard. “And,” she continued, glancing at Arthur, “bring Lucius with you.”

Arthur pursed his lips for a moment, and then he nodded his head. “Yes, well, if you two are going to stay together, I suppose the least we can do is give him a chance.”

Harry solemnly shook Arthur’s hand. “Thank you, Arthur. It would mean a lot to me.”

Arthur returned Harry’s serious look, until he broke into a smile and pulled Harry into a hug. “Just give me some warning,” he joked, “so I can prepare myself.”

Harry grinned as he picked up his bags. “I will. Maybe we can come in the Christmas holidays? I’ll write to you anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “I must go, or I’ll miss my connection. Thank you so much for having me. Give my love to everyone.”

With one last wave, Harry turned and hurried to the Bucharest connection, heading home to Lucius.


	11. Blackmail

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

**A.N.** For Yoshi!

 

****

Blackmail

A week after Draco had departed to visit Lyra, Harry, Lucius and a few of the other teachers were seated at breakfast in the great hall. Harry was chatting to Venetia, and Lucius was discussing various articles in The London Prophet with Vlad. Everything was peaceful and calm…until the post owls arrived.

Harry was pleased to find a letter from Ron in his few, and had just settled down to enjoy Ron’s description of a recent friendly match in which he had found himself pitted against Ginny, when a crash startled Harry out of his reading.

Lucius had dropped his teacup; it lay smashed, along with the saucer, shards scattered over the table. But Lucius was paying it no attention; his eyes were riveted to the letter clutched tightly in his hand. He had gone deathly white.

“Lucius? Lucius, what’s wrong?” Harry demanded on seeing the distraught expression on his lover’s face. 

“She’s taken Draco,” came the strangled reply.

“What? Who’s taken Draco? What do you mean?”

Lucius handed Harry the letter. He scanned it quickly. “Oh, god, no.”

“Harry?” Vlad queried.

Harry read the letter again; there was no doubt about its meaning.

“Harry?” Vlad said more urgently, recalling Harry to his surroundings. 

The few teachers had gone silent, staring worriedly at Lucius and Harry. Taking a deep breath, Harry read the letter.

“ _Dear Mister Malfoy_ ,” he began. “ _Draco is enjoying his stay with me…if you wish him to continue to do so you will deliver the Emaris to me, two days from now. Await further instructions_. It’s signed, “ _L. McCloud_ ”. There’s a p.s., “ _I suggest you comply, I wouldn’t want to have to remind your son of things best left forgotten_.”

Lucius let out a moan and dropped his head into his hands.

“Does it mean Lyra?” Venetia queried in a tremulous voice.

Harry nodded. “I think so. Lucius? What are we going to do?”

Lucius’ head shot up and he glared at Harry. “We? We? _We_ are going to do nothing. You have done quite enough as it is. I said Draco shouldn’t go, but oh no, you had to persuade me that he would be quite safe. But he isn’t, is he?” he shouted in Harry’s face. Shoving back his chair, Lucius stormed from the room.

Harry flew after him. “Lucius,” he called to the retreating figure. “Lucius, wait!” 

Lucius stopped suddenly, and spun on his heel to face Harry. “What? Just what is it you want, Harry? To cause even more trouble? That’s what you are, you know. A troublemaker.”

Abruptly all the fight seemed to go out of Lucius. His shoulders sagged, and his head dropped.

Harry hurried to his side, and wrapped his arms around the older wizard. Lucius’ own arms came up and he clung to Harry, his face buried in Harry’s hair.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lucius said in a muffled voice. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t blame you, not when I am the one to blame.”

“No one is to blame,” Harry replied, holding Lucius tightly. “How could anyone have known this was going to happen? She seemed so nice,” he finished weakly.

“I should have listened to you…should have got rid of the damn book when you suggested it.”

Vlad joined them in the corridor. “Are you going to do as she requests?” he asked.

Lucius nodded. “I have no choice.” Then he shook his head, a frown appearing on his face. “This must have been worked out some time ago, surely it can’t have been a coincidence that she came here?”

“I have some papers relating to Lyra’s appointment in my office. Shall I get them? There may be something of importance in them.”

“If you would be so kind, Vlad. We’ll meet you back in my rooms.”

Harry was relieved to hear Lucius say “we”, thus including Harry in the planning.

Vlad left in the direction of his office, and Harry and Lucius continued on to his rooms. On opening the door, Lucius let out a small cry, and hurried into the arms of the man waiting for them in the middle of the room.

Raif held Lucius tightly to him, whispering soft words against Lucius’ hair, his hand stroking soothingly down the length of it.

For a moment, Harry felt jealous, then all he felt was relief that Raif was here, and that he was being of comfort and support to Lucius. 

Raif let Lucius go, and then he turned to Harry, and Harry found it was his turn to be enveloped in the strong, warm embrace. A wave of calm swept over him. Raif’s body was tight against him, and abruptly Harry forgot the trouble they had to deal with; his senses were completely taken over by the sudden urge to press himself even closer against Raif, and tilt his head back to be kissed. His cock hardened in his trousers.

Raif let Harry go, a strange look in his ice-blue eyes as they gazed at one another for long seconds. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Raif gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and turned back to Lucius who had just poured out four glasses of brandy.

“I know it’s far too early,” Lucius said, passing one to Raif and one to Harry, “but _I_ need one, and I hate to drink alone.”

Harry passed Raif the letter that had arrived that morning, and Raif seated himself in one of the armchairs that flanked the fire, and read it. Harry took care to sit close to Lucius’ side on the sofa. He was appalled by his reaction to Raif. That he could, at such a time as this, suddenly be overcome by a feeling of lust for another man. 

He was distracted from his internal condemnation of himself by the arrival of Vlad; the headmaster was clutching a thin file in his hand.

“I had a quick look through it on the way here,” he began. “There’s an address in Paris noted for her, as well as the address in Nice that Draco went to.”

Lucius was staring into the tawny coloured liquid in his glass. “I just don’t understand how she came to be here. I know Draco could very well have mentioned that I had the book...but there are so few people who would be aware of its significance, was it just a coincidence that she was one of them?”

“I doubt it was coincidence,” Vlad said, seating himself in the other armchair. 

“But then how could she have known the book was here?” Lucius demanded.

Vlad shook his head. “That, I can’t answer.”

“I think I might be able to,” Harry said slowly. “Lucius, do you remember me reading that article to you, out of the Prophet? About that shop assistant who was found murdered? It was the man who served me in Flourish and Blotts, Sanders, Sandford, something like that.”

“So you think she’s been following a trail?” Vlad asked.

“That led her here,” Harry agreed. “She could well have got the information out of the shop assistant that it was I who bought the book—and possibly that it was Lucius who had originally ordered the book—before she killed him. Oh, Merlin, why didn’t I think to link his death to the book?”

“So, Lyra came here on a scouting mission?” Vlad conjectured.

Harry nodded. “Yes, but maybe she didn’t know for sure whether I had the book or whether Lucius had it. Befriending Draco was one way she could find out, without alerting either Lucius or I to the fact that she was looking for the book.”

“It doesn’t matter how it happened,” Lucius interjected sharply. “I have to give her the book, that’s all there is to it.”

Raif, who had been silent until then, spoke. “And what if she is in possession of the missing book...the one that belonged to Dumbledore?”

Lucius raised his eyes to stare belligerently at Raif. “I don’t give a fuck whether she has it or not. I have to get Draco back.”

“But if she does have the other book, you know how much power she will have if she possesses _two_ books?”

Lucius shot to his feet. “Of course I bloody well know,” he shouted. “What in Merlin’s name would you have me do then, Raif? Leave Draco at her mercy? For her to awaken all the memories of his mother’s death and his own torture? I cannot believe you would ask that of me,” he stormed.

“I am not,” Raif answered calmly, “but what I _am_ asking you to do is to think of alternatives before you so readily hand over that which has been given into your care. You of all people are aware of just what is at stake here.”

“Alternatives?” Lucius shot back. “What alternatives? I refuse to play games with Draco’s life.”

“No one is asking you to, Lucius. But stop, and think for a moment. There may be a way we can rescue Draco without giving up the book. Let us not rush into anything. Did you say you had another address for Miss McCloud, Vlad?” Raif continued, turning to the headmaster.

Vlad flicked open the file. “Seventy-six, rue St Germain, Paris. But considering we now believe she came here with an agenda, it seems unlikely to be a legitimate address.”

“Still, assuming she is no longer at the address where Draco went, I shall go and see what can be found.”

“I’m coming as well,” Lucius said determinedly.

“No, you are not,” Raif replied in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. “She is well aware of what you look like. If the address _is_ genuine, and she is in residence, then if she catches even a glimpse of you in the area, that will be that.”

Lucius morphed suddenly into Valentin. “Now she won’t know who I am,” he said triumphantly.

“No,” Raif repeated, “you must remain here.”

Lucius glared at him, a mulish expression on his face. “I see no reason why I should; she won’t recognise me like this.”

“No, but Draco will, and if it is as the letter seems to suggest—that he has no idea that he is being ransomed—then he will see no reason not to call out to you should he see you, even disguised as you are.”

Lucius fumed silently, but even he could see the wisdom in Raif’s decision.

“Fine,” he eventually spat out. “When do you propose to go?”

Raif got up from his chair. “No time like the present. Lucius,” he added. “Try to stay calm. We will do all we can to ensure Draco stays safe, you know that.”

Lucius let out a deep breath. “Yes, yes. But I can’t help worrying.”

Raif dropped a hand onto Lucius’ shoulder and squeezed it briefly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, before disappearing from the room.

The intervening hour before Raif returned was one of the longest of Harry’s life. Lucius paced the room like a caged panther and neither Harry nor Vlad risked speaking to him.

When Raif did return his face held no promise of good news. 

“Well?” Lucius demanded.

“Seventy-six, rue St Germain is indeed a legitimate address, it is even hidden by a Fidelius charm, but it is empty and has clearly not been inhabited for some time, presumably why she was happy to have the address noted on her file. There is no sign of habitation at the Nice address either.”

Lucius swore fluently. “So we have no way of knowing where they might be?”

“Unless we do some tracking of our own,” Vlad suggested.

They all turned to him. “I have the address of the college Lyra was attending; perhaps they have a different address for her...or maybe someone there knows something.”

“It’s worth a try,” Harry said enthusiastically. “Will you go there or owl them?”

“He’ll go there,” Lucius said determinedly. “We don’t have time to hang about waiting for blasted owls to fly to and fro.”

“Of course I’ll visit,” Vlad soothed. “But perhaps you can come with me, Lucius?” Vlad turned to Raif. “If you think it appropriate?”

Raif looked undecided for a moment, and then he nodded. “I see no reason why Lucius should not accompany you, if he goes in disguise. You will be able to cover more ground that way, ask around more, if that is necessary.”

“And you?” Vlad asked, “Will you join us?”

Raif shook his head. “No, I cannot. And I think Harry should remain here at school, in case any further communication from Draco’s captor arrives.”

Harry was about to protest, until he caught sight of the small shake of Raif’s head. Instead he bit back the words, and dropped his eyes from the blue ones that warned him to remain silent.

With churning emotions, Harry watched Lucius and Vlad prepare to leave. He went with them down to the Floo in the great hall, ever conscious of Raif, a silent figure in the background. He knew, from the one brief glance that Raif had shot him, that the older man wanted to talk, and he could well imagine what the topic of conversation was going to be.

As soon as the green flames had died in the grate, he turned to Raif and quickly said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me...it was so inappropriate,” he finished with a mumble, his eyes dropping to the ground.

Raif smiled. “Oh, Harry, there is no need for apology, but I knew you were confused about what happened, which is why I wanted to speak with you about it. It is quite common in highly charged emotional situations for humans to suddenly react in inappropriate ways...a bit like giggling at a funeral.”

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the floor. Raif reached out and tipped up Harry’s chin. “That’s all it was, Harry.”

“I’m just so embarrassed.”

“There is no need to be, really. It was a reaction you had no control over. Now, let’s put it behind us. I have to go, Harry, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” Raif paused, his eyes intent on Harry. “All right, Harry?”

Harry nodded, still not quite able to subdue the flush that stained his cheeks. “Sure, I’ll be fine.”

“Very well, I will see you tomorrow.”

For a moment Harry thought that Raif meant to embrace him again, but instead the older man simply clasped Harry’s shoulder briefly, and then flickered out of existence.

Harry took a deep, calming breath; Raif’s explanation of Harry’s reaction to him had been a relief. It seemed so rational, so _plausible_ , that he was able to put the episode out of his mind, despite thinking, only minutes before, that he would never be able to look Raif in the eyes again.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he should wait here in the hall, or go upstairs to his room, and for a few minutes he debated the question. It was answered for him by a sudden influx of teachers arriving for lunch, and with a start Harry realised that the whole morning had passed, without him really being aware of the time.

He seated himself at the dining table and, after a cautious enquiry from Venetia, gave those assembled a brief summary of what had happened.

 

****

*****

The fact that Lucius and Vlad returned just after supper did not bode well, nor did the expression of frustration on Lucius’ face.

“Nothing,” he said bitterly. “They held the same address as we do...and there were very few students still in residence, as, of course, most of them have gone home for the holidays. Those that did remain either did not know her, or knew very little about her.”

“It appears she kept very much to herself,” Vlad added. He sighed. “I must get on, there are a few other avenues of enquiry open—some fellow head teachers I can talk to; Lyra may well have attended other schools in the course of her studies. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything…although it may be difficult to track some of my friends down, not all of them stay at their schools over the holidays.” 

The door closed behind him, and Harry turned to Lucius. “So we’re back at square one,” he remarked glumly. 

“There is nothing for it, I shall simply have to hand over the book,” Lucius said with an air of defeat. “I know Raif will not like it, but it is not _his_ son who is in danger. Did he say when he would be back?” he added, turning to Harry.

“Tomorrow, sometime.”

“Not that I expect him to do much...he has already done more than he should have.”

“It’s so bloody maddening,” Harry fumed. “Knowing he has the power to just snap his fingers and save Draco...”

Lucius sighed. “I used to feel the same way, Harry. But Raif really is bound by the laws of his own people. Every time he offers even the slightest help to me, to _us_ , he takes one step closer to the line that he must not cross.”

“What would happen if he did cross it?” Harry asked curiously.

“He has never really said, but I imagine it would mean the end of his time here... he would have to return forever to the realm where the Tuatha dwell.”

“So,” Harry said slowly, trying to understand, “he’s here on a sort of, I don’t know, a _pass out_ , if you like?”

Lucius nodded. “I think so. Although we have never really discussed it...I have learned to accept that there are limitations to what he is able to do—no matter how frustrating that might be. And his very presence alone is a comfort to me.”

Lucius put an arm around Harry as they sat together on the leather sofa in his rooms. “I’m going to need you to be on my side in this, Harry. I know that Raif will try to persuade me not to hand over the book, but I don’t see that we have any choice.”

“Will it really be that terrible if she does have the other book? Dumbledore’s book?”

Lucius face went grave. “If she chooses to misuse the power contained in the books—and she has the knowledge to do so—then yes,” he said simply.

“What about the book the Vampires hold?” Harry said suddenly. “Do you think we should warn them that we are being forced into giving up the Emaris, and that their book may very well be in danger?”

“I have already been in contact with Raoul to explain the situation,” Lucius replied. “Vlad and I sent an owl earlier.”

They sat in silence for a while until Harry spoke. “Do you think Lyra knows what the Emaris looks like?”

“That thought occurred to me also, Harry. But all she would need to do would be to open the cover...and that’s if she couldn’t feel the power it holds without even doing that.”

“And there is nothing we can do to the book itself? Like put a locking charm on it or something, so, even if we have to give them the book, she can’t actually open it?”

“No.” Lucius shook his head. “The power within the book would repel or nullify any spell or charm that might be used against it. Much as the magic of the greenwood nullified the magic you tried to use there.”

“So there really is nothing for it,” Harry said with a sigh. “If we want Draco back, we have to give her the book...and what then?”

“What then?” Lucius queried.

“What is she likely to do? What can we expect? The end of the world?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic...I hope. But we can expect her to use the power to further her own ends, whatever they may be. And the power within the books is of the old magic. She will fully wake that which is best left asleep...and that may very well _change_ the world as we know it. The things that will awaken along with the old magic are not of this time; they are alien to it, and to our ideals and way of life.”

“Will _our_ magic still work?”

“That I cannot answer, Harry. It may be that the two will exist side by side...or it may be that the influx of old magic will negate any use of wizards’ magic.”

It was a bleak prospect, and Harry shuffled closer to Lucius. “I’m scared,” he said quietly.

“So am I,” Lucius whispered back.

 

****

*****

Vlad’s enquiries turned up no further information about the elusive Lyra McCloud, other than the fact that she had been at Hogwarts for a short time as part of her training. That information made it almost certain that it had been she who had somehow managed to steal the other book.

As Lucius had predicted, Raif tried his upmost—within his limits—to persuade Lucius not to relinquish the Emaris. But as he was unable to offer an alternative, or to intervene with his own considerable power, he could not sway Lucius from his decision.

Two days later an owl arrived at breakfast, bearing another letter from Lyra. It was brief: “ _8pm on the 13th, The Hangman’s Noose, Bucharest. Ask the innkeeper for directions. L. McCloud_.”

 

****

*****

“I’ve got it!” Harry declared excitedly.

Lucius looked at him critically, then a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not displaying any symptoms.”

Harry ignored him. “My invisibility cloak.”

“Your invisibility cloak?”

“I can go with you tomorrow when you go to exchange the book for Draco, but I’ll be underneath my invisibility cloak.”

“And what will that achieve, precisely?”

“It means I can follow the bitch when she leaves, then hopefully we can find out where she goes, and we can then try and get the book back.”

Lucius’ eyes lit up for a moment, and then his face fell again. “And what if she simply Apparates?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Harry said slowly. “About what you said about the book repelling any magic that someone might try to do to it…well, what if it also has an effect upon anyone who tries to Apparate with it? I never did, I used the Floo.”

Lucius frowned. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a try, after all, we’ve got nothing left to lose…if you’re sure she will be unable to detect you?”

Harry grinned. “Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice creeping about under it.”

“Hmm, I have no doubt…I can’t imagine who was irresponsible enough to give such an item to you.”

“Dumbledore did, actually. It belonged to my dad. So I can come with you, then?”

Lucius nodded slowly. “All right.”

*******

 

At nine forty-five on the thirteenth of August, Lucius Malfoy—followed unseen by Harry—walked into the Hangman’s Noose. It was a dilapidated pub in an insalubrious back street of Bucharest. The few patrons, who were seated at its grimy tables, sat in silence, nursing their drinks. A meagre fire smouldered in the filthy grate.

Lucius marched up the counter. “I’m looking for a Lyra McCloud,” he announced.

In response, the inn keeper jabbed a finger in the direction of a door at the back of the room. “In there,” he said shortly.

Lucius had just turned away, when the man spoke again. “Payment up front…eight sickles.”

Lucius looked as if he might be about to challenge the man’s right to charge anything for such unaccommodating surroundings, but then heaved a sigh, and fished in his pocket for the required number of coins. Then he made his way through the indicated door, making sure he held it open long enough for Harry to pass through behind him.

They were early, and the room was empty. It was simply furnished with a small table, around which were set four chairs, and by the unlit fire there was a high backed settle whose upholstery looked as it had supplied the nesting material for several generations of mice. The one window was so begrimed, that it was almost impossible to see out of it, and the light it let in was meagre. Cobwebs clung to the low, blackened beams, and the place had an unpleasant smell.

On the mantelpiece was a blackened candlestick with a short stub of candle; Lucius lit it…its light hardly challenged the gloom, and indeed Harry was of the opinion that it would have been better to have left it unlit, for it merely managed to highlight the dirt that coated every surface.

“This place is disgusting,” Lucius said, pulling a face. “Where are you going to be, Harry?” he added.

“I’ll be over here, by the window,” Harry answered, making his way into a corner of the room where he would be unlikely to get in anyone’s way. 

Lucius, after a very speaking look, fastidiously wiped his handkerchief over the seat of one of the chairs at the table and then gingerly sat down on it.

At precisely ten o’clock, the door opened and Lyra entered, she was alone.

“Where is Draco?” Lucius demanded, getting to his feet.

Lyra smiled. “Good evening to you too, Mister Malfoy. I’ll forgive your lack of manners on this occasion. Draco is just bringing his bags, he’ll be with us in a moment. I trust you have something for me?”

“You’ll get it when I see that Draco is safe and unharmed.”

“Draco is perfectly well…whether he remains that way is up to you, Mister Malfoy. As long as I have the book, then you may rest assured I won’t be popping along to remind him of those, oh, so terrible times.” Lyra smiled nastily. “Pity, I should like to have heard a first hand account of his ordeal.”

“You sick bitch,” Lucius said viciously.

“Tut tut, Mister Malfoy. Your manners really could do with some improvement. I…oh, Draco, there you are.”

Draco had entered the room, dragging his suitcase with him. “Hello, father,” he said cheerfully. “Lyra said you were coming to meet us…couldn’t you have picked a better inn, though, this place is awful, isn’t it, darling?” Draco turned to Lyra.

She patted his arm. “Indeed, still, we shan’t be here for long.”

Draco’s face fell. “I wish you could come back with us,” he said mournfully.

Lyra put on a rueful expression. “So do I, Draco, but I’ll try and visit you soon. Now, you’d better get going, before I get all emotional. Mister Malfoy?” Lyra turned back to Lucius. “You did remember to bring that book you said I could have, didn’t you?”

Slowly Lucius extracted the Emaris from his pocket and handed it to Lyra. She gazed at it with a greedy expression on her face. “Lovely,” she breathed, then glanced up at Lucius. “Thank you so much, Mister Malfoy. You can be sure I will take great care of it. Now, I really must be going. Have a safe journey, Draco.” She planted a quick kiss on Draco’s mouth and then turned to the door. Harry set off after her.

“I don’t think so, Mister Potter,” came a voice from the darkness at the back of the room. “I think my daughter would prefer to depart without your company.”

Harry turned incredulously towards the sound of the voice, from the corner of his eye he noticed Lucius pushing Draco behind him.

From the shadows came a flicker of movement. Harry was only too familiar with it; it was the unmistakable motion of someone removing an invisibility cloak. The man who was revealed—his wand pointing unwaveringly in their direction—made him gasp. Lucius and Draco echoed his reaction.

For the man was Lucius. Or as alike Lucius as to be almost indistinguishable from him.

He appeared to be enjoying the shock he had caused. “Come, come, Harry, I have removed my cloak, I think it time you removed yours.”

Harry bit his lips in indecision for a few seconds, and then slowly took off his cloak.

“Who in Merlin’s name are you?” Lucius blurted, having found his voice at last.

The man put on a hurt expression. “I am Gaius McCloud. Don’t you know me, little brother?”

“Little…? I have no brother,” Lucius spat out.

“You would deny me?” The man’s expression suddenly went vicious. “But then why should I expect anything other than rejection? That has been my lot in life from the very beginning. Oh indeed, not for me the privileged life, the wealth, the respect…all because our father was already married to another when he begot me. As I am the elder son, all you had should have been mine,” the man’s voice began to rise. “But no, you got it all. Well, now it’s time for me to take what is owed to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lucius said forcefully. “I would have known; father would have told me.”

Gaius McCloud laughed. “You would deny the evidence of your own eyes?”

“Polyjuice could achieve such results.”

“And my daughter? What about Lyra? Was her likeness to Draco not remarked upon? Hardly surprising, as they are cousins.”

Draco looked bewildered. “Lyra, what’s going on? Is this man really your father? Are we really cousins?”

“Indeed, so thankfully there can be no relationship between us. You are a self-centred, vacuous fool,” Lyra snapped with an expression of malicious glee in her eyes.

Draco turned a distressed look on Lucius. “Father?”

Lucius put a comforting arm around his son’s shoulders, before turning to Lyra and her father. “You got what you came for…now get out.”

Gaius pouted. “What? No heart-warming family reunion, little brother? No reminiscing about times past?” His voice hardened again as he went on. “No comparing our lives? You don’t want to hear about how I spent my childhood in a garret in Paris, with barely enough food to keep my mother and I alive; whilst you were pampered and cosseted? You don’t want to hear about how, whilst you went to a great magical school, I had to teach myself? Or how my mother died a broken woman, because our father abandoned her when she became pregnant? How he accused her of trying to trap him, and denied that I could be his child? About how you have had everything handed to you on a golden platter, whilst I have had to work for everything I am and have? No? 

Don’t worry; I have no wish to claim kinship with you, Lucius Abraxus Malfoy. I am moving on to bigger and better things than you have ever dreamed of.” He snatched the book out of Lyra’s hand. “With the power contained in here,” he shook the book under Lucius’ nose. “And the Essant—yes, I have the book Dumbledore held—I could rule the world. There will come a day when it will be you who is desperate to acknowledge our family ties.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Lucius interjected viciously. “I cannot see that there will ever come a time when I wish to associate myself with a megalomaniac.”

“Really? We are to forget the time you spent licking Voldemort’s boots then, are we?”

Lucius opened and closed his mouth, finally he said, “He may have become a mad man, but at least he started out with ideals, with a purpose. What are your ideals, McCloud, what is your purpose?”

“Power,” Gaius said simply. “And yes, for myself only, and for Lyra.” He reached out and drew his daughter close. “To achieve what should have been mine by right, to have what you had…and then so much more.”

“You’re a fool as well as a megalomaniac if you truly intend to use the power with the books. Surely you must know what may very well occur if you fully wake the old magic?” Lucius said desperately.

Gaius expression became triumphant. “That wizards’ magic may fail in the face of the wild magic? Then yes, it has occurred to me…and think on that! I will hold the only magic in the world in the palm of my hand, whilst you…you will have nothing, you will be no more than Muggles.”

“And you think it will be that easy to manipulate the old magic to do as you wish? There is a reason it is called wild magic.”

McCloud simply waved the Emaris. “Intractable, perhaps. But even a wild animal can be tamed with the right tools.”

Lucius shook his head. “I can see there is no reasoning with you.” He turned to Draco and Harry. “Come, I am sick of the stink of this place.” With one last ferocious look at McCloud and his daughter, Lucius strode from the room. Harry helped Draco pick up his bags, and then they both followed in Lucius’ wake.


	12. Three Men of Power

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

Three Men of Power

The journey back to school was conducted in silence, although Harry was bursting with questions. The look on Lucius’ face was so forbidding that Harry kept his tongue between his teeth, and Draco just looked like a kicked puppy, and let out heartrending sighs at frequent intervals.

When they arrived back in the great hall, both Raif and Vlad were waiting for them. Without a word, Lucius stalked off towards his rooms, Draco trailing behind him. 

Harry was in two minds about whether to follow them, when his decision was made for him. Raif caught hold of his arm and held him back. “So, the deed is done?” he asked.

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which Lucius had just disappeared. “It was—I can’t believe it—it was Lucius’ brother. Turns out Lyra is Lucius’ niece. Lucius has a brother,” he repeated to himself, incredulously.

“Lucius’ _brother_?” Raif demanded sharply.

Harry turned to him. “Yeah. It seems that Lucius’ father got some woman pregnant, but he was already married to Lucius’ mother. Gaius, he said his name was—this man who said he was Lucius’ brother. And he had to be. I couldn’t believe it; they were pretty much identical, although this man says he is older than Lucius. Can’t be by much, though. And anyway, I think it was him that was behind it all—they do have the other book, by the way—and Lyra was just helping him.”

“Harry,” Raif interrupted. “You are gibbering. Sit down, and you can start at the beginning and tell us everything that went on.” 

Harry allowed himself to be drawn to a chair and seated between Raif and Vlad, then he proceeded to tell the two older men just what had occurred.

“So,” he concluded, “at least it explains how the other book was stolen from Hogwarts.”

“How does it?” Vlad queried.

“Well, Gaius’ mother must have been told the family password...you know, maybe after they…when they were in bed…” Harry blushed.

“Ah, you mean “’pillow talk,’” Vlad supplied helpfully.

“Yeah, that…so maybe Abraxus told her the password during pillow talk.”

“Exsisto patefacio unto mihi,” Raif murmured.

“What?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Exsisto patefacio unto mihi,” Raif repeated. “‛Be open unto me’. It’s the Malfoy family password.”

“How did you know that?” 

Raif looked slightly embarrassed. “Erm…”

“No, don’t tell me,” Harry forestalled him. “Pillow talk, right?”

Raif smiled.

“So, you were saying,” Vlad interjected, “about it explaining how the book was stolen?”

“Oh, right, yes. Well, it seems that one of Lucius’ ancestors was a headmaster at Hogwarts...”

“Malfeasance,” Raif said darkly.

“Yes, him. Anyway, he had this secret passage constructed to the headmaster’s office. Only the Malfoy family knew about it, seemingly. And the password was the Malfoy family password. If Gaius’ father really was Abraxus, then it’s possible that when he told Gaius’ mother the password, he told her about the secret tunnel. Then she in turn passed the information on to Gaius, and he to Lyra, so she was able to use it when she was at Hogwarts to get the book,” he finished triumphantly.

“It seems very possible,” Vlad said slowly, after some thought. “But how did she know the book was there?”

“I wouldn’t say it was common knowledge that Dumbledore had the Essant, but the knowledge was available to those who sought for it,” Raif answered. “It was really only the third book—the one Lucius has, _had_ , in his possession—whose whereabouts was unknown for so long. It seems possible Gaius and Lyra had been tracking the third book, and had traced it to Flourish and Blotts, only to find that it had been sold on.”

“It can’t have been long after I bought it,” Harry chipped in. “Although I can’t remember exactly when the article appeared about the shop assistant being murdered.”

“So, they traced it here, and then had to think about a way to get hold of it. Once they had ascertained that it was Lucius who held the book, they knew he would never willingly hand it over. Sadly, Draco was their perfect lever. Somewhat of a coincidence, really,” Raif added musingly. “That both brothers should have an interest in wild magic...although I believe Abraxus did have some curiosity about it.”

The three sat in silence for a while, until Harry suddenly said, “Raif? Are things really going to change very much...if they try to use the books?”

Raif nodded. “You are aware that Lucius attempted one of the rituals in the Emaris?”

“Yes.”

“Well, even though he only half completed one of the ceremonies, the wild magic stirred in its sleep. You would not have encountered the residents of the greenwood, had they not been woken from their slumber. They are of the old things that dwell close to the border between the worlds. Should the McClouds try to manipulate more of the power in the books, then those things that dwell _deep_ in the realm of the old magic will also stir, and they are things this world is not equipped to deal with.”

“Are they really bad?” Harry all but whispered.

Raif shook his head and frowned. “No, not bad…it’s difficult to explain, but I think the best way to describe them, would be to say they are just too _different_ from us to exist side by side with us. They may do things which may be completely acceptable to themselves, but which would be totally unacceptable to us.”

“Like hunting dinner guests to death,” Harry said bitterly.

“Exactly. But not because they are bad, just that their concepts of right and wrong, as it were, are alien to ours. They come from a time when the world, and the people who dwelt in it, were very different than they are today.”

“I’m beginning to understand why wizards made it sleep. It’s a pity they couldn’t kill it off entirely.”

“You could say that I am of the old magic, Harry,” Raif said mildly.

“But not really,” Harry protested. “You are far more powerful than that.”

“Do not underestimate just how powerful the old magic is, Harry. If it awakens fully, it will not suffer itself to be laid to rest again without a fight. If we are to prevent that happening, we must stop the McClouds before they are able to completely rouse it.”

“And how do we do that?” Harry asked.

“I...I am not sure, yet.” Raif said slowly.

Silence descended once more. This time it was Vlad who broke it. Getting to his feet, he yawned spectacularly. “Well, I for one am off to bed. The end of the world as we know it may well be about to come to pass, but as there is little I can do about it, I am going to get my beauty sleep. Good night, Harry. Good night, Raif.”

They watched as the headmaster left the great hall, and then Harry said, “I suppose I’d better go and see how Lucius is feeling about his new brother.”

“May I come with you?” Raif asked.

Harry looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to ask me if you want to see Lucius. I don’t mind about your past, you know.”

“And our future, Harry? What of that?” Raif queried enigmatically.

Harry had got to his feet, now he stopped and looked intently at Raif. “Just what do you know about that, Raif? Severus told me that you can see glimpses of the future. Have you seen something about Lucius and me? And you?”

Raif stood up, looming over Harry in the dark hall, his vivid eyes alight with blue fire in the gloom. “And if I had? You know very well that I would be unable to tell you.”

“You have, haven’t you?” Harry demanded. “Well I think it’s bloody rotten of you to drop hints like that when you can’t tell us what you’ve seen. You should keep it to yourself,” he continued angrily. “I’ve got enough on my mind, without wondering what you’re hiding in your head.”

“Harry, Harry,” Raif said calmingly, “what I might or might _not_ have seen is only vague. And the future, as I am sure you know, is not the future until it is the past.”

“What?”

“The future is unpredictable until the very moment it happens...and at that moment it becomes the past.”

Harry frowned. “You mean,” he said slowly, “that the future could be anything, and we don’t know what it will be until it happens. So, really we only know something _is_ going to be the future when it actually happens, and by the time that happens it’s already the past?”

Raif laughed. “Something like that. Come on, let us go and see how Lucius is coping with not being an only child anymore.”

Badly, as it turned out. He had already made a considerable dent in the level of brandy in the decanter, and the expression on his face sent Harry’s mind scurrying away from memories of when Lucius had been a feared Death Eater: it was vicious in the extreme.

“Trickery,” he spat, the moment Harry and Raif entered the room. “I will not believe that man is my…my _half_ brother. It has to be trickery, some sort of deception. My father was an honourable man.”

Lucius poured anther inch of brandy into his glass, before slamming the decanter back onto its tray with enough force to stress-fracture the glass. “Oh, I know well that he took women other than his wife to his bed, but he made sure that no bastards would be produced as a result of it. He spared my mother that.”

He paced about the room, taking frequent sips of his brandy. “No, I will not believe it. It cannot be true.”

“Lucius,” Raif said calmly, reaching to bravely take the brandy glass from Lucius’ tight grip. “Whether Gaius McCloud is your brother or not, we are still faced with the prospect of him awakening the wild magic, now he is in possession of both books.”

“Which of course is my fault,” Lucius said bitterly.

“I am not casting blame, Lucius. What good would it do? You did what you felt had to be done, and who knows? Maybe that is what was destined to happen.”

Lucius suddenly ceased his pacing. “Merlin, this has been one of the worst days of my life. Not only does some madman turn up claiming to be my brother, but I lose the Emaris.”

Harry crossed to Lucius’ side and wrapped his arms around him. “But you got Draco back safely; that’s what’s important, Lucius.”

“I couldn’t allow her to free the memories in Draco’s head. Surely you can see that, Raif?” Lucius said, his eyes going past Harry to meet Raif’s blue stare.

Raif dropped to sit on the sofa, and then patted the space next to him. “Come, be seated. I am sorry, Lucius, but to be honest we cannot afford the time for you to wallow in self-pity. We need to think about what can be done to remedy the situation.”

“Self pity?” Lucius demanded with an angry look, as he nevertheless sat next to Raif. Harry squeezed himself on the other end of the sofa. Then Lucius sighed. “I suppose you are right.” He managed a weak smile. “As always.”

Raif laughed. “Goodness, I would never dare claim that I am always right.”

“But _is_ there anything we can do?” Harry asked. “Is there any way we can stop them using the power in the books? Or is there some other magic we can use to stop the effects of what they try to do?”

“I am not sure,” Raid said honestly. “But we must certainly try to think of something.”

“If there had been any other way…” Lucius began, before being interrupted by a timid knock on the door. “Whoever it is,” he hissed as Harry got up to open it, “tell them to go away.”

Harry opened the door, and then gasped. “Selena! What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Harry,” the vampire said archly, before pushing past him into the room. “Hello, Mister Malfoy.” She turned her attention to Raif. “Raif, it’s good to see you again. My uncle says that it is time you visited, his chess set is gathering dust.”

Raif rose swiftly to his feet and went to greet Selena. “Selena, my dear. You look lovely as always.” He bent over her proffered hand and dropped a kiss onto the back of it. Then drew her arm over his and led her to Lucius’ side.

Lucius, with delayed manners, had finally risen to his feet, and now he too bent and kissed Selena’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Aristide, but I am afraid that now is not a very good time.”

“Ah yes, but then you see that is why I am here.” With somewhat of a flourish, she withdrew a small book from a pocket in her cloak. She proffered it to Lucius. “My father has sent you this. He said that you might care to pay particular attention to chapter thirteen.”

Lucius stared at the book, and then took it gingerly from Selena. “I can’t believe…does your father really mean me to have this? But, I have just been the cause of the loss of the Emaris.”

Selena smiled. “My father did say that you were to please take very good care of it, and,” Selena’s smile grew, “he said he would ‘have your arse’ if you lost it.”

Lucius reddened. “But why has he given the book to me?”

“I believe he feels you the most likely to put it to good use. You are one of the few who understands the magic contained therein. And you have Raif by your side.”

“But surely your father knows that Raif is unable to help us? If he were, we would have no need of the book.”

Selena looked enigmatic. “Perhaps. I am sure that between you all you will come up with something. Now, I must fly. Goodbye to you all, and good luck.”

She crossed to the window, drew back the curtains, and opened the casement. Then, in the flicker of an eye, she seemed to crumple and fold, until, instead of a young woman, a bat sat on the window sill. Beyond her, in the rapidly darkening night sky, Harry could now see a multitude of dancing shapes that swooped and soared. Selena had not come alone.

“Selena,” Lucius called as the bat spread its wings, “thank you, and please thank your father for me. I will do my very best, I promise.”

The bat seemed to nod its head, then, with a sudden flurry of movement, it flung itself into the night.

The three men stared at the open window for a few seconds, until Harry slowly crossed the room, and shut it, drawing the curtains to shut out the dark.

Lucius returned his attention to the book. “Well, this is something I didn’t expect. But still, one book against two…”

“Perhaps you should do as Raoul suggests, and look through chapter thirteen,” Raif commented. “And now I too must depart. I will be back in a day or two.”

“But you can’t just go,” Harry blurted. “What happens if the McClouds use the books?”

“They are unlikely to do so for a little while yet, Harry. It will take them some time to familiarise themselves with the Emaris, and then yet more time to assemble whatever they need for whichever of the ceremonies they intend to start with.”

“So you’re not even going to wait to see what this chapter says?”

Raif shook his head. “No, I must be away.” 

Lucius crossed quickly to his side, and Raif bent to kiss him. It was a simple closed mouth kiss on the corner of Lucius’ mouth, and then the two broke apart, and Raif turned to Harry.

Without even thinking about it, Harry tilted up his own face, and Raif dropped a similar kiss to the one he had bestowed upon Lucius, onto the corner of Harry’s mouth.

As Raif flickered out of existence, Harry sank down next to where his lover had seated himself on the sofa.

“So, this is the third book?” he asked.

Lucius nodded. “Indeed, the book that we searched for at the Riddle house. The book of the Full Moon, the Elledan.”

Harry dropped his eyes to the small tome that lay open in Lucius’ hands. The pages appeared to be made of some heavy paper, perhaps vellum, although Harry didn’t know for sure. The writing that filled each leaf was tiny, minute strokes of a pen that went to form letters unfamiliar to Harry. Here and there—as Lucius carefully turned the pages—there were diagrams and pictures.

“I should head off to bed if I were you, Harry. I am likely to be a while with this.”

“Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? Harry asked. “Maybe it would be better to read the book in the morning,” he added, on catching sight of Lucius squinting over the tiny print. “The light will be better.”

Lucius shook his head. “For all Raif said about there being no immediate danger, I’d rather be a step ahead than a step behind. If I can find something, _anything_ , that might help us, then I need to hurry.”

With a small sigh, Harry dropped a kiss onto Lucius’ brow. “Okay, well, if you’re sure…I’ll see you in the morning, then.” 

He was just about to get up, when Lucius put the book down, and swiftly pulled Harry into his arms. “I’m not in so much of a hurry that I can’t spare the time for a proper goodnight kiss.”

Harry melted into the arms that held him, revelling in the deep kiss that was bestowed upon him. He felt a deep sense of peace, of contentment and security, and an overwhelming feeling of love.

As they drew apart, Harry said earnestly, “I love you so very much, Lucius.”

Lucius smiled. “And I you, Harry. Now, go and get some sleep, I will see you in the morning.”

Harry got to his feet. “You too, Lucius. Don’t read all night,” he cautioned. Then he turned and went back to his own room.

Festus had obviously somehow divined the way the night would turn out, because the fire was lit in Harry’s rooms, the bed was turned down, and a cup of hot chocolate stood steaming on the bedside table.

Harry gave a sigh of satisfaction as he slid between the warmed cotton sheets, and sipped his cocoa. The clock on his mantelpiece chimed one o’clock as he blew out the candle, and he snuggled down under his covers.

He drifted on the edge of sleep until something caused him to come back to full wakefulness. Harry realised his thoughts had turned to the kiss between Lucius and Raif, and he fished for the jealousy he was sure was about to surface, but to his confusion, he found nothing. Pondering this, Harry allowed his mind to conjure up more erotic images of Lucius and Raif together…and gasped as his cock sprung into a full erection.

Did he really find thoughts of Lucius and Raif in bed together a turn-on? Harry tentatively went further with his imagining…to picture Lucius on his back, his long, slim legs wrapped around Raif’s waist as the dark-haired man plunged into him—for Harry had no doubt that Raif was one of the few, if not the _only_ man, Lucius would ever bottom for.

His cock jumped, and, drawing in a gasp of breath, Harry stole his hand down his body, and began to pump his cock in time with the rutting couple in his imagination. 

Harry came at the same time as he imagined Lucius throwing back his head and letting out a cry as Raif’s pumping hand brought him to completion. 

He cast a cleaning spell at himself and then lay still, waiting for his breathing to slow…and finding it hard to believe he had just come from imagining his lover with another.

And there it was. “You devious bastard,” he said out loud to the darkness. For once the notion had arrived in his head, Harry was almost certain he was correct in his assumption: Raif was planning to take both Lucius and Harry to bed with him. His words the night Harry had been delivered from the greenwood had not been idle, and now Raif was subtly getting Lucius accustomed to seeing him take Harry into his arms—kissing him even—and vice versa: he was getting Harry used to the sight of Lucius being held and kissed by Raif.

And Harry could not deny that he found the prospect an alluring one. He was unable to deny his own attraction to Raif, and now he doubted that what Raif had described as an involuntary reaction was that at all: he was now quite sure that when his body had sparked with such a surge of lust for the man, it had been responding to some signal sent to it by Raif.

And of course Lucius had once been Raif’s lover, and indeed still loved him.

But could Harry honestly say he would be happy to share Lucius with another man?

Then again, Raif was not just any other man.

And would there be room for Harry in such a relationship? Or would he eventually be shut out by Raif and Lucius?

Would it indeed be a relationship? Or would it simply be a quick tumble in bed together?

The questions tangled in Harry’s mind, until, worn out by the long, stressful day, he succumbed to sleep.

 

****

*****

Lucius did not appear at breakfast, nor did Draco, and after he had eaten. Harry made his way to Lucius’ rooms.

Lucius and Draco were seated at their small dining table. Draco was moodily munching his way through a piece of toast and marmalade, and Lucius was still studying the Elladan. He looked as if he had not been to bed at all: his hair was tangled; he wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

To his surprise, Draco greeted Harry with a, “Good morning.” Harry had been quite sure that once he didn’t have to impress Lyra anymore, Draco would go back to being his usual obnoxious self. It appeared that he was wrong, as Draco went on to say, “Perhaps you can get him to go to bed, Harry, he’s been up all night reading that damn book.”

“This ‘damn book’ as you describe it, Draco, may well hold the answer to our problems…if only I could find it,” Lucius added in a mutter.

“No luck with chapter thirteen, then?” Harry asked, perching himself on the back of the settee.

Lucius put the book down and sighed. “Nothing I can understand. The language is even more archaic than that in the Emaris; I can understand one word in five, if that.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “All I can make out is that the chapter seems to refer to a ‘triumvirate’, and a joining of the moons, but if it does, then surely it refers to a joining of the three books. Perhaps Draco is right, perhaps I need to get some sleep.”

He got to his feet. “Wake me in two hours, Harry, no more.” Lucius swigged the last of the coffee from his cup and then plodded into his bedroom and shut the door. Harry took his seat at the table and picked up the book.

“I still don’t know why Father gave the Emaris to Lyra,” Draco said grumpily.

Harry struggled to come up with a reasonable excuse. “I, er, I think he promised that she could borrow it, when, well, when you and she were friends.”

“Well, he’s got a slim to none chance of getting it back from that rotten bitch. Do you really think they are related to us?” he added.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “It’s possible, I suppose. I mean, Gaius looked a great deal like your father…and even Lyra looked a lot like a female version of you.”

“Well I suppose it means I don’t have to go out with her now. D’you know, I’m glad we broke up, I didn’t really like her that much anyway.”

Harry decided to play along. “No, you can do better than that, Draco.”

Draco’s face brightened perceptibly. “Yeah, you’re right, Harry.” He gave Harry a considering look. “You know,” he said slowly. “You’re not so bad. I suppose I shall have to put up with you as long as you and Father are seeing each other, so we might as well be friends.”

“Well, thank you, Draco.”

The sarcasm was lost on Draco. “That’s all right. Well, I’m going back to bed.” Draco yawned spectacularly and rose from his chair. “You can wake me when you wake Father.”

Harry grunted a reply, already engrossed by the Elladan.

He didn’t understand the words, but the pictures and diagrams were fascinating. Harry turned over page after page, only barely registering the house-elf when it came in to clear the breakfast things away. He paid particular attention to chapter thirteen, but in this section of the book, the script was even more indecipherable; still, it seemed familiar somehow.

Here and there pages were stuck together, and he was carefully prising two of these apart when he made his discovery. He bolted from his chair, and was shaking Lucius awake less than fifteen seconds after spotting the picture that had been hidden between the adhered pages.

“Lucius,” he said urgently. “Look,” he added, shoving the book under Lucius’ nose.

Lucius struggled into an upright position, still half asleep. He became fully alert when he spotted what it was that had made Harry so excited.

“That’s my pendant, isn’t it?” Harry queried. “The one you got me for Christmas?” Without waiting for an answer, Harry dropped the book onto the bed and scampered off to his room. 

He returned with the pendant dangling from his fingers. Lucius snatched it from him, and compared it to the illustration in the Elladan.

“It certainly looks the same,” he said slowly. “Of course, it could just be a copy.”

“And the writing on the back of it?” Harry demanded, determined that he was right: that his pendant was the very one pictured in the book. “I thought some of the text looked familiar; it’s the same writing that’s on the back of the pendant, look,” he ordered.

Lucius turned the pendant over and squinted at the back. Then he clambered out of bed, and went into the sitting room where the light was better. There was another illustration of the back of the pendant, and he minutely examined both it and the pendant itself. “Merlin!” he exclaimed at last, “I think you’re right. But,” he went on, “the illustration seems to make out that the pendant is in fact three pendants joined together…yours is a single piece.”

“Is it? Are you sure?” Harry took his pendant back from Lucius and peered at the back. “Oh bloody hell, just a sec.” There was a tiny ‘snap’, and one side of the pendant detached itself.

“You’ve broken it!” Lucius accused.

“No, I haven’t…see, the other side…if I can just…get…ah.”

The other side of the pendant also came off, and now Harry was left holding the middle section which contained the round moonstone.

Lucius slapped his forehead, and then grabbed the book up from where he had laid it on the table. Quickly he leafed back through the pages until he came to what he was obviously searching for. “Of course,” he muttered.

“Of course, what?”

“Yes…I see, it makes sense now.”

“What does?” Harry demanded.

“The joining of the three moons…it’s not the books: it’s something to do with this pendant. See, the left side as you look at it is the waxing moon, the centre the full moon and the right side is the waning moon. They could be worn singly, or—as you have been doing—put together to make one piece, a whole from three pieces. If I could just work out this bit about the triumvirate…”

“Lucius,” Harry said slowly, as an idea formed in his head. “You don’t think that it means three _people_ , do you? I’m right in thinking that the ‘tri’ bit means three?”

Lucius looked at him. “I’m beginning to think I should just let you have the book to decipher,” he said at last. “Why on earth didn’t I think of that? For Merlin’s sake, triumvirate in Latin means three men of power. I suppose I must have been so wrapped up in my original thought that it had to mean the books, that I was blind to anything else. Now, I wonder who the three men of power were?”

“You don’t suppose,” Harry said, keeping his voice light, “that it means you, me and Raif, do you?”

Lucius laughed. “Don’t be silly, Harry. The books were written hundreds, if not thousands of years ago, and whilst Raif may well have been known to the author, we most certainly were not.”

“But does it have to mean three men of power _specifically_? Couldn’t it just mean three men of power, generally speaking?”

“Even if it did mean ‘in general’, you know very well that Raif cannot possibly do anything to help us.”

“That’s not strictly true,” came Raif’s voice from behind them.

Harry let out a very undignified, girlish scream. “Bloody hell, Raif,” he said crossly, “can’t you knock, or cough or something? Anyway, I thought you weren’t coming back for a couple of days?” he added.

Raif’s expression of amusement morphed into one of concern. “There have been…ripples,” he said slowly. “It may be the McClouds are just testing the books…or it may be they are preparing to move more quickly than I had anticipated. Either way, bearing in mind the Eve of Melinor is just a week away, I think it prudent we hurry along our countermeasures.” 

Lucius started. “The Eve of Melinor? You think they may move _that_ quickly?”

Raif nodded. “What better time? When the boundary between the two worlds is thinnest and the wild magic sleeps only lightly?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Lucius said quietly.

Raif glanced at the pieces of jewellery on the table. “So, you have worked out the pendant, then?” 

“You knew?” Harry asked.

“Suspected.”

“And the three men of power? Am I right about that?”

“Harry,” Lucius butted in, “I told you that couldn’t be the case…” his voice trailed off as he fully took in the expression on Raif’s face. “What?” he demanded.

“You know that we will need a great deal of power to counteract anything the McClouds may come up with?”

Harry and Lucius nodded.

“But that there is not enough power in the one book to do that?”

Again Lucius and Harry nodded.

“Well,” Raif continued, “I think I may have found a solution.”

“Go on,” Lucius prompted.

“I could transfer some of my power to you…”

“No,” Lucius interrupted with finality. “You cannot break your laws.”

“Sometimes laws are meant to be broken,” Raif said calmly.

“I will not countenance it. I cannot lose you,” Lucius added desperately.

Raif stretched out his hand and cupped Lucius’ face. “You know you are dear to me also, my love. But you have to admit that we are in dire straits, and needs must when the devil drives, as the Muggle saying goes. Wait,” he commanded as Lucius prepared to protest again. “Wait until you hear all I have to say. I believe there may be a way in which I can transfer some of my power to you in such a way that it will be hidden from those who should not know.”

Lucius frowned. “How?”

Raif gestured to them both to sit, and then he began. “There is a ceremony,” he said slowly. “Similar to the one you and I performed, Lucius, but it is subtly different in a number of ways. If we performed it—you, me and Harry—I could give you some of my power as a binding gift.”

“But wouldn’t this ceremony be noticed by your people?” Lucius queried.

Raif shook his head. “No, well, not enough to cause them to become concerned about my activities.”

“I don’t see how that can be,” Lucius said disbelievingly.

“Because my power would be divided between the two of you—as opposed to being given to just one person—it would be less noticeable. And there are certain precautions we can take.”

Lucius frowned. “I don’t like it. And I don’t think you’re telling the whole story.”

“Have you any other suggestions?” Raif asked, ignoring the last part of Lucius’ comment. 

Lucius bit his lip, a frown still creasing his brow. “You know that I have not.”

Raif went on, “Harry was right. The triumvirate ceremony is about combining the power of three men. Whilst I cannot, of course, take part directly in the wielding of that power, if we were to undertake the binding ceremony first, then some of my power can be wielded by you and Harry. I would be a sleeping partner, if you like.” Raif smiled a small smile, but the gravity did not leave his face.

“And this binding ceremony,” Lucius said darkly, “just what would it entail?”

“I think I know,” Harry said suddenly. He turned to Raif. “It wasn’t just because you fancied us all in bed together, was it?” he asked. “It was because you foresaw this.”

Raif nodded. “I was aware it might come to pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Lucius interjected.

“This transfer of power…it’s got to be through us…well…making love,” Harry explained. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked Raif.

“No,” Lucius said firmly, before Raif had a chance to answer. “I will not sanction this…you do not have to do this, Harry,” he added. “He has only known me as a lover, Raif; it is not fair to ask this of him.” Lucius turned pleading eyes on Raif.

Raif’s expression was grave. “I think the decision has got to be Harry’s, Lucius.”

“Harry has always had to put everyone’s needs before his own…I do not think he should be asked to do so again.”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted. “But to be honest, I think the whole ‘saving the world’ thing is rather more important than my feelings about being shagged by someone other than you, Lucius.”

Lucius suddenly rounded on him, his eyes narrowed. “I see,” he hissed. “You are very calm about all this, Harry. Could it be you are more than happy to have an excuse to jump into bed with Raif?”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Raif spoke before him.

“That thought is unworthy of you, Lucius. You know very well that Harry loves you every bit as much as you love him…and as much as _you_ love _me_ , and _I, you_ ,” he added in a voice heavy with meaning. “You seem to assume that Harry should have no problem accepting the fact that you and I are still in love. Do you not think it might have been reasonable for him to worry that we might resume our sexual relationship? But no. Harry has shown no feelings of jealousy; he has accepted our relationship with understanding and maturity.”

“Well,” Harry felt obliged to say, “I have to admit that in the beginning I had a few concerns, but then I got used to the idea, and now it just feels good to have you around, Raif, because I know you love Lucius and you are a comfort to him.”

Raif turned his gaze on Lucius. “I am not talking about becoming a permanent fixture in your bedroom, Lucius—I’m sure you and Harry are perfectly satisfied with each other—but for the sake of this binding ceremony…can’t you see it is the only way?”

Lucius stared at his clenched hands, his head bowed. Raif and Harry waited for his response with bated breath. Finally Lucius spoke. “As I am the cause of our problems, then it behoves me to help put right the wrong. If you truly think it is the only way, then fine, I will go along with your plan…but I do not like it.”

Raif shook his head sadly. “Then I am afraid we will have to give up the idea now. Each of those entering into the ceremony must do so of their own free will, fully understanding what it entails, what is expected of them within the bounds, and desiring it completely. Should you have even a shadow of a doubt in your mind, then it will not work. That goes for you too, Harry,” Raif added, turning to look at Harry. “You have to be fully aware of just what it will mean to take the vows…like the binding ceremony Lucius and I shared, it is a bond for life.”

Harry nodded. “I thought it might be,” he said. “I don’t think that will be too hard. I love Lucius, and cannot imagine I shall find anyone else I love more: the prospect of spending my life bound to him is a happy one. And I care for you, Raif. You are a good man. I can see no worries about being bound to you either…but I would kind of like to know exactly what vows I’ll be taking. I mean,” he went on with a smile, “I’d hate to find I have to swear to make you both breakfast in bed until the day I die.”

Raif laughed, and even Lucius managed a small smile. 

“Don’t worry, Harry, the vows are something we choose, only the words of the ceremony are fixed.” Raif returned his attention to Lucius. “Well, Lucius, what say you?”

Lucius now raised his head and looked from one to the other. Finally he sighed deeply and then said, “If Harry is truly happy to do this, _truly happy_ , then I agree. You know full well that I love you both, and I am already bound for life to you, Raif; being bound to Harry also will be no hardship.”

“Then I think we should each spend the day thinking about what is to come. To be sure in our own minds that what we are doing is right and that we are happy to do it. Remember, there can be no reservations or the ceremony will not work. I suggest we meet here this evening. Should we all still be of the same mind, we will proceed with the ceremony…I will supply what is necessary.”

Harry and Lucius nodded their agreement, and then with a wave of his hand, Raif left.


	13. The Binding

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

The Binding

Raif left a heavy silence in his wake. Harry turned to Lucius. “You know, if you really don’t want to do this, we won’t. We can think of something else.”

“My only reservations were about you,” Lucius answered. “You have always had to put others’ needs before your own. I don’t what you to feel pressured into committing to the ceremony.”

Harry sank down onto a chair. He took a deep breath. “To be honest, I don’t think it would work if I _did_ feel pressured. I meant what I said,” he went on. “I love you, and can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else, ever.”

“But you are so young,” Lucius protested. “Who knows how you may feel in a few years time?”

“How long have you loved Raif?” Harry countered.

“It feels like forever,” Lucius said slowly, “but I suppose since I was about sixteen.”

“And you never stopped loving him?”

Lucius shook his head. “No, even when I sent him away, I still loved him.” He looked at Harry wonderingly. “How can you be so calm about my feelings for another?”

“Because I know you love me as well,” Harry said simply. “Oh, I admit I was jealous of Raif at first, when I found out you had been lovers and that you were still in love. But somehow my feelings changed…I was never made to feel like I wasn’t needed, or that you would prefer to be with Raif…and he never made me feel pushed out either. It sort of feels, I don’t know… _right_ for the three of us. As if each of us has something to offer the other two.”

“But what about the, well, the _physical_ aspect of this ceremony? Don’t you feel concern at the thought of he and I together?”

Harry blushed. “Actually,” he said with a weak grin, “I have to admit that the thought of the two of you together is rather a turn-on.”

“You’ve imagined Raif and I in bed together?” Lucius asked, amazed.

“Last night,” Harry said. “It was after he kissed us both. I was drifting into sleep and I suddenly realised I was thinking about him kissing you. I thought I would feel jealous, but when I didn’t, I imagined you both doing more than just kiss…just to see how I would feel.”

“And you felt turned-on?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. When…well after…”

“You came?” Lucius demanded incredulously.

Harry nodded.

Lucius laughed and shook his head. “No wonder you had no qualms about going to bed with the both of us.”

“It’s more than that,” Harry hastened to explain. “After I…well, I realised that this is what Raif has been leading up to…our acceptance of each other in his bed. At first I thought he just fancied a threesome, but now I think he foresaw this might happen and he’s been preparing us…getting us used to seeing him with the other. Like him kissing us both last night.”

“But you know you will have to more than watch when we do the ceremony?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t contemplate letting anyone other than Raif have sex with me, but with him it’s different somehow…I can’t explain.” Harry paused. “Are you really all right with this, Lucius?”

Lucius nodded slowly. “You two are the most precious people—apart from Draco—in my life. I am already bound to Raif, as you know. To have a bond that encompasses the three of us…well, the thought is a happy one. And as Raif said, he isn’t planning on becoming a permanent fixture in our bed.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said. “I have to admit I wouldn’t mind another couple of hours sleep, especially as I doubt we’ll be getting much sleep tonight.”

Lucius rose to his feet and stretched down a hand to Harry. “Come on, then. But we must not sleep too long; we have to work out our vows before this evening.”

Just before they reached the bedroom door, Lucius stopped. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Sorry? What for?” Harry asked, confused.

“For saying what I did, before…about you wanting an excuse to sleep with Raif.”

“That’s okay,” Harry reassured his lover. “It was all a shock to you…I’d had time to think about it, and I was almost expecting the proposition when it came.”

“Still,” Lucius said quietly. “It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. Now, let’s get some shut-eye.”

They slept until the early afternoon, curled around one another, holding each other tightly. 

It was Draco who woke them with a cry of horror. “Oh Merlin, that I did not need to see.”

Harry struggled into consciousness. “We’re only sleeping, Draco,” he mumbled.

“In the same bed!”

“For goodness sake, Draco,” Lucius said crossly, burrowing under the covers. “Go away and do something useful…like getting a house-elf to bring me some coffee.”

“And something to eat,” Harry added.

 

****

****

By mutual, unspoken agreement, Harry and Lucius spent the rest of the afternoon apart.

Harry spent the time in his rooms, curled up in his chair, watching the flames flickering in the fireplace. Aside from some understandably nervous flutters in his stomach, he felt strangely calm, as if everything was proceeding as it should. Even the vows he was to speak to Lucius and Raif came easily to him: vows of love, fidelity, and friendship. To each man he proposed to use the same words, and he felt sure both Raif and Lucius would do the same; there would be no distinctions in this threesome. They would come together as equals, and remain together as such.

At the stroke of eight o’clock, there came a knock on Harry’s door. He took a deep breath, and went to open it. 

Raif and Lucius stood in the corridor outside, and wordlessly Harry beckoned them inside. They each took a seat by the fire, and Harry sank to the floor at Lucius’ feet. A slim hand almost automatically reached out and began to stroke his hair.

“So, Harry,” Raif began. “How do you feel? Are you still willing and happy to go through with the ceremony?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I’m both.”

“And do you have your vows worked out?” Raif queried.

Again Harry nodded. “Yes, yes I do.”

Raif’s voice dropped as he asked the next question. “And are you prepared for the physical binding?”

“I am...but,” Harry hesitated, and a flush stole up his face. “I...erm, well...” He swallowed hard.

“What is it, Harry?” Raif asked gently.

“Well it’s just that...with me binding to both of you, do I have to...well, do I have to make love to you both? At the same time?”

“Do you mean will we all be in bed together? Then yes.”

Harry shook his head, his face flushing even redder. “No,” he said in a mumble. “I mean, do you both have to... _enter_ me at the same time,” he rushed to finish.

Raif smiled reassuringly. “No, Harry, we do not need to both enter you together. Whilst that can be pleasurable for all concerned, you are not experienced enough, nor does the ceremony require us to do so.”

Harry let out a pent-up breath, and smiled with relief. “That’s okay, then. I would have done it, if I had to...but I have to say I’m glad I don’t.”

“There is something else, though, Harry. The ceremony requires that we form a triangle, as it were...one of us at the apex, the other two equal to each other but below the apex...do you understand?”

Harry frowned. “You mean you will be sort of in charge and Lucius and I under you?”

“What Raif is trying to say, Harry,” Lucius butted in, “is that to be considered equal, you and I have to be equal in _all_ things.” Seeing Harry’s lack of comprehension, Lucius sighed and went on. “It means you have to fuck me, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth opened...and then closed. His eyes went wide.

“Do you have a problem with that, Harry?” Raif asked, his voice filled with concern.

“He never has,” Lucius said succinctly. “He has always taken me into him.”

“I guessed as much,” Raif said. He smiled across at Lucius. “Only for me, eh, Lucius?”

Lucius smiled faintly. “Only for you,” he agreed.

Raif looked at him intently. “So perhaps I should be asking if _you_ are the one with the problem?”

Lucius returned his gaze for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No, I do not have a problem with that, although I can’t say that I would be happy for it to be a permanent arrangement.”

Raif turned back to Harry. “Harry?”

Harry’s face was now pale. “I don’t know what to do,” he said in a scared voice.

“I will guide you,” Raif said reassuringly. “Please, Harry, you must not worry. Our joining is meant to be a joyous completion of our bond...there will be no marks for technique,” he went on with a grin. “You must trust that Lucius and I will take care of you. Nothing will harm or hurt you...and we will make sure that you are able to fulfil that which is required of you—the joining with Lucius—when the time comes.”

Raif rose to his feet and now his expression became solemn. “Now, I ask you both one last time, are you both willing and happy to enter into this bond?”

Lucius and Harry also got to their feet. At the same time they both intoned, “Yes.”

“And do you both understand what the ceremony entails?”

Again they both answered in the affirmative.

“Do you both have the vows you wish to speak ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will proceed with the ceremony.”

Raif turned to Lucius, and ran his hands down the blond man’s body. Immediately Lucius’ clothing shimmered and became a long, dark-blue robe. Raif then turned to Harry and copied the movement: Harry’s robe was white. Then Raif’s clothing transformed into a long black robe.

“Let us go,” Raif said, holding out his arms to enfold Lucius and Harry.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked tentatively.

“To a place where the ceremony can be performed without interruption, and as necessary,” Raif answered enigmatically. “Come,” he urged.

And Harry stepped forward and allowed himself to be drawn under Raif’s arm, as Lucius did the same on the other side of Raif.

His rooms flickered out of existence, and Harry closed his eyes against the blackness. When he opened them again he found himself in a lofty, stone-built chamber. The anticipated coldness failed to hit him: the room was warm. Turning, Harry found the source of the heat—a huge open hearth on which burned a great mass of timber. He continued to turn slowly, his eyes taking in the room.

It was comfortably—if sparsely—furnished. A large armchair stood to one side of the fire, beside which was a small table on which rested a chess board with a half played game of chess. On one wall was a huge bookcase crammed with books. There was a small table where someone could eat, and a single chair pushed under it. Against another wall stood an enormous bed draped with a heavy, fur cover. Harry swallowed hard at the sight of it. But he quashed the rising feeling of nervousness, and continued his examination. On the far side of the room was a sideboard.

“Welcome to my humble home, Harry.”

Harry turned to Raif. “You live here?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I suppose…I just hadn’t really thought about where you actually lived.”

“Make yourselves at home,” Raif suggested. “There are one or two final preparations I must make…perhaps you could pour some drinks, Lucius?” 

Lucius moved unerringly to the sideboard, opened one of its cupboards and retrieved a bottle and three glasses as Raif disappeared through a small door that Harry hadn’t noticed earlier.

Harry began to wander around the room. He made his way first to the bookcase, and was surprised to see some of the titles contained therein. There were modern children’s classics like Wind in the Willows and Swallows and Amazons, as well as older well-known titles such as A Christmas Carol, Jane Eyre and the works of Homer. There were also magical reference books, potions books and history of magic books…side by side with Muggle dictionaries and encyclopaedias. Raif, it appeared, was an eclectic reader.

“Harry?” 

Harry turned to see Lucius holding out a glass to him. He made his way over and took it, noticing as he did so that there was a black velvet cloth laid out on the top of the sideboard. On it lay six gold rings. Two were white-gold, two were yellow-gold and two were rose-gold.

“I never thought about rings,” he said worriedly, eyeing the circlets of gold.

“Do not worry,” Lucius reassured him. “As prime, it was Raif’s job to supply them.”

“Prime?”

“The top of the triangle, the _apex_ as Raif put it earlier. You and I will be sub-prime for the purposes of the ceremony.”

“You mean we won’t _always_ be… _under_ him, so to speak.”

“No, the ceremony we are about to perform requires that one of the threesome assume the role of prime, the top…”

“Yeah, of the triangle; I got that bit.”

“And in our case it has to be Raif,” Lucius went on with a frown at Harry. “In order that he can gift us with his power…which I am still not happy about,” he added in an undertone.

“Why?”

“Because, despite what Raif might say, I still cannot see how what we are about to do will escape the notice of his brethren. Because what we are about to do breaks all their rules of non-involvement.”

“But you and he did it before, and nothing came of it. What’s different now?” Harry asked.

“This is a much more serious bond,” Lucius explained, his expression growing more concerned. “And before, he did not gift any of his power to me.”

Harry bit his lip. “But surely,” he said slowly, “he must know what he can or can’t do?”

“Hmm, in a lot of respects, Harry, Raif is rather like you…he is often of the opinion that rules do not apply to him.”

“Slander!” Raif laughed, returning to the main room. He took the last glass from the sideboard and raised it. “To us,” he toasted.

“To us,” Harry and Lucius echoed.

They drank in silence until Raif put down his glass, his expression now serious. “It is time.” He reached out and picked up the rings, secreting them in a pocket in his robes. “Come, follow me.”

Lucius and Harry followed Raif through the small door into an antechamber. Hundreds of candles were arranged around the walls, turning the room into a crystal globe of twinkling lights. Otherwise the room appeared empty.

“Oh,” Harry said in surprise.

Raif turned to him. “Is everything all right, Harry?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes…only, I suppose I was expecting an altar of some sort.”

“This isn’t a religious ceremony, Harry, the only vows we are making are to each other.” Raif reached out and drew Harry towards him. “Now, we must take up our positions. Lucius, if you will stand to my left, Harry to my right…that’s it.”

The two men moved to take up the positions Raif had indicated, until they formed a triangle, then Raif spoke, “To the power that surrounds us, I ask you to witness this, our bonding ceremony. Hold secret our promises to one another through all of time, and grant us the courage and love to keep our faith with one another.”

Harry thought he felt a deep pulse from beneath his feet, as if the earth’s heart had beaten. He glanced at Lucius, but his lover’s eyes were fixed on Raif, and he gave no sign that he had felt anything out of the ordinary. Harry’s gaze went back to Raif.

“Now,” Raif continued, “as prime, I will begin by making my vows to you both.”

There was a sudden quiet in the room, as if the air around them were holding its breath, then Raif spoke.

“Lucius, to you I make a vow to care for you, to treasure you, to offer you comfort when you are in need, to bring you light when you are in darkness, and to warm you when you are cold. I vow that I will always be by your side, even if you send me away. I vow to be faithful to you, and to love you for the rest of my days.”

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, noticing as he did so that there was a telltale glitter of tears in Lucius’ eyes.

Raif withdrew one of the yellow gold rings from his pocket. “To seal my vows to you, I offer you this ring as a token of my veracity. Will you accept it?”

“I will,” Lucius answered, his voice heavy with emotion. 

Raif reached out and, taking hold of Lucius’ left hand, he slid the ring onto the ring finger. For a long moment the two men gazed at each other, and then Raif released Lucius’ hand, and turned to Harry.

“Harry, to you I make a vow to care for you, to treasure you, to offer you comfort when you are in need, to bring you light when you are in darkness, and to warm you when you are cold. I vow to guide you if you ever lose your way. I vow to be faithful to you, and to love you for the rest of my days.”

The ring Raif presented to Harry was white gold. “To seal my vows to you I offer you this ring as a token of my veracity. Will you accept it?”

Harry fought to keep his voice from trembling as he answered, “I will,” and stretched out his hand to receive the token of binding. Raif slid the band of metal onto Harry’s finger. It felt cool as it slid over his skin, before coming to rest at the base of the digit, then it suddenly went warm and seemed to nestle closer to Harry’s skin.

“Now Lucius,” Raif went on. “It is your turn. First to me, and then to Harry.”

“Raif,” Lucius’ voice wavered, and he paused, obviously fighting to keep the emotion in check. “Raif,” he began again. “I vow to be everything and anything you need me to be. I vow to listen to your words. I vow to never turn you away from me. I vow to love you always.”

Raif slipped another of the gold bands from his pocket and handed it to Lucius. Harry caught the gleam of rose-gold as Lucius held the small circlet aloft.

“To seal my vows to you, I offer you this ring as a token of my veracity. Will you accept it?”

Raif smiled, and said, “I will.” He held out his hand, and Lucius slid the rose-gold band onto Raif’s waiting finger. Then he turned to Harry.

“Harry. I vow to you that I will take care of you. I vow that I will support you in whatever you want to do with your life. I vow that I will stand by your side no matter what other people may think of our relationship. I vow to respect you and to listen to you. I vow to love you always. To seal my vows to you, I offer you this ring as a token of my veracity. Will you accept it?”

Now Harry could not stop the tears from falling as he said, “I will” and reached out his finger to receive the white-gold band that Raif had passed to Lucius. As it reached its brother at the base of Harry’s finger, Harry couldn’t keep back a gasp of surprise as the two bands seemed to circle around one another and became a twist of white gold in place of two plain bands.

Raif gave him a grin of pure pleasure. “Now Harry, last but by no means least, your vows, if you please.”

Harry spoke the words that he had thought out that afternoon to each man. “I vow to do whatever I can to help you if you should ever need my help, to be true, to be faithful, to love you until the day I die.” He slid a ring onto each finger as his token was accepted by each man: the yellow-gold to Lucius, the rose-gold to Raif. Each ring twisted around the one already seated on Lucius’ and Raif’s fingers.

“The rings have accepted that we are bound,” Raif said solemnly. “Now I will give you both my gift of binding. “Reach out your right hand, Harry, your left, Lucius, and press your palms together…good. Now reach your other hands towards me.”

Now they stood as points on an equilateral triangle, their outstretched arms and touching palms forming the sides. Raif closed his eyes. “As I am prime, and it is my duty to care for you, I gift you both with some of my power so that you may better defend yourselves against anything that may threaten to harm you.”

It began as a tingling in Harry’s fingertips, a tingling that spread up his arm. Then it burst into his body and filled him up so full that he felt as if his very life force was going to overflow, come bursting from the top of his head in a myriad of sparkling stars. He felt all of a sudden lighter, and suddenly knew an urge to sing at the top of his voice: a paean to life and being. He wanted to dance, to throw his limbs about with wild abandon. It was the most overwhelming thing he had ever experienced and it left him gasping. “Oh…my…god,” he managed to get out. He nearly broke the contact with Raif’s hand, but fingers curled around the back of his hand and held him secure until the turmoil within him calmed. 

Then Raif broke the contact himself. “Now you have both received my gift…”

Harry glanced across at Lucius and noted that he was looking as stunned as Harry was sure he himself looked.

“It is time to bind our bodies together.” 

Harry felt a frisson of worry course through him, which effectively doused the residue of euphoria still fizzling along his nerves.

Raif reached out to Harry and gently drew him close. The startling blue eyes looked into Harry’s. “Don’t worry, Harry,” Raif said quietly, “we can take this as slowly as you need to.” And then he ducked and kissed Harry.

This time it was no peck on the corner of Harry’s mouth…it was a full, deep kiss that gave Harry no option but to open up to it. And it rocked him to his very core. Raif tasted of honey, of wine, and of wildness, and Harry gave himself up to the mouth and tongue that seemed to know just what to do to pleasure him the most. Harry’s body melted against Raif’s broad chest, and he brought up his arms to return the embrace, losing himself in the building desire within him …until, that is, he heard Lucius give a faint groan behind him. For all he had said, Lucius was obviously not happy…

A familiar body pressed against Harry’s back, and knowing lips found the sensitive spot below his ear. Lucius’ groan had not been in anguish at the sight of Harry in another’s arms; it had been a groan of lust. His fears allayed, Harry allowed himself to revel in the feeling of being pressed between two hard male bodies…the bodies of the two men he loved. For it had come to him that afternoon, as he had sat and contemplated what vows he was going to speak, that he loved Raif. It was a different love to that he had for Lucius. His love for Lucius burned like white light, searing in its intensity. His love for Raif was a steady love that glowed with warmth within him.

Raif broke the kiss, leaving Harry’s lips feeling bereft. Then, over Harry’s shoulder, Raif and Lucius kissed. If Harry had entertained any doubts about whether his two lovers’ relationship had been strictly platonic since they had come back together, then they would have been put to rest by that kiss: it was the sort of kiss shared by lovers too long apart, an almost desperate re-acquaintance, a relearning…a reaffirming of the love they had for one another.

But at the same time, Lucius’ body thrust against Harry’s back, the hard length of his cock pressing between the cheeks of Harry’s arse, and his hands travelled down Harry’s body and cupped Harry’s erection through the fabric of the robe. His senses already heightened by the eroticism of the kiss between Raif and Lucius, Harry shut his eyes, and groaned with need.

He was abruptly released by both men, although Raif’s hands stayed on his shoulders. Harry looked up into the bright-blue eyes.

“I think we should perhaps move this somewhere rather more suited for what we are about to do,” Raif said with a smile.

Harry willingly allowed himself to be led back to the main room. Before he could reach the great bed, he was jerked roughly into Lucius’ arms, and the familiar taste of his lover flooded his mouth as Lucius’ velvet tongue thrust into it. This kiss was one of possession, a reminder that whilst of necessity Harry had to bed with Raif, when all this was over, it was to Lucius that Harry belonged.

Then eager hands were pulling the robe from Harry’s body, and two pairs of eyes feasted themselves on his naked flesh. In one sense it was rather gratifying to be the object of desire of the two men who now stood facing Harry, on the other it was also rather nerve-racking.

“Beautiful,” Raif breathed, his eyes running over Harry’s body. He reached out a hand and ran it up Harry’s left arm and then traced a finger along Harry’s collarbone. The touch sent shivers of anticipation through Harry’s body, and his cock, already hard, jerked with eagerness.

“I think perhaps we should level the playing field,” Raif went on, his fingers leaving Harry’s skin and reaching to remove his own robe. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to feast his eyes on naked flesh. Raif was perhaps two inches taller than Lucius, and built rather heavier. Broad shoulders above a broad chest that was lightly dusted with dark hair, whorls of which surrounded each nipple. Lower down, an arrow of dark hair led over a flat, toned stomach to the prize between Raif’s firm thighs. From a nest of thick, dark curls, his cock rose, semi-erect, slightly heavier and longer than Lucius’ sex. 

Harry was drawn to the bed and pressed down to lie between Raif and Lucius on the soft fur covers.

Then it seemed to Harry that Lucius and Raif decided to see if they could drive him out of his mind with pleasure. Hands chased each other over his skin, always skirting that part of him that screamed for attention. Mouths kissed and licked trails across his body, until each one fixed on a nipple and sucked and nipped and teased. At that, Harry gave up his fight for self-control and shouted out his need for someone, _anyone_ to touch his cock. 

His wish was granted as the two mouths teased their way slowly down his chest and stomach…and then it was only the two firm hands on his hips that kept Harry anchored to the bed, as two mouths closed around his aching length. Forcing his eyes open, Harry looked down the length of his body…and nearly came at the sight that greeted his eyes: Lucius and Raif were kissing around the length of his cock, tongues twining around his erection, collecting the drops of pre-come welling from the tip, and swapping the moisture between them. The dark of Raif’s hair tangled with the white-blond of Lucius’ long tresses, trailing on Harry’s thighs in a whispering caress.

It was Raif who eventually took Harry’s cock into his mouth, his firm tongue dancing around Harry’s length as he sucked on Harry’s erection. Lucius’ hand grasped Harry’s balls and rolled them in time to Raif’s sucking, as he stared intently at the mouth that enclosed Harry’s flesh.

Coupled with the pleasure he had already been treated to, it wasn’t long before Harry gave up the unequal struggle to stop himself from coming. Raif’s lips pressed tightly around Harry’s cock, and his throat opened to take in Harry’s full length as, with a loud cry, Harry came, emptying himself deep into Raif’s mouth.

Raif continued to hold Harry’s cock until it slipped limply from between the older man’s lips. And then Harry gasped, his cock jerking in an attempt to stiffen itself once more, as Raif and Lucius kissed again, this time swapping a mouthful of Harry’s come between them.

Semi-delirious, Harry vaguely heard the rumble of soft voices, and then he was turned over. He found himself lying on Lucius’ body, his lover’s erection pressed against his own rapidly swelling cock. Lucius’ hands reached to weave themselves into Harry’s hair, and he was pulled down into a deep kiss, Lucius’ mouth still retaining the mingled taste of Raif, and Harry’s come.

Raif’s broad, warm hands ran over Harry’s back, soothing the tenseness that suddenly developed in his shoulders at the thought that it was now…now was the time he was going to be fucked by Raif. Slowly his muscles relaxed under the steady rhythm, all the time the hands slowly went lower on each pass down Harry’s back, until they reached his arse. There they stayed, each hand treating the soft flesh to a firm caress.

With his knees, Lucius spread Harry’s legs apart, opening his body for Raif. Harry waited for the spell that would stretch and lubricate him…it didn’t come. Instead, a finger, slicked with some oily substance, circled around the entrance to his body. Harry raised his head and looked in question at Lucius.

“No magic may be used during this part of the ceremony…we must do things the old-fashioned way,” Lucius whispered, before once more claiming Harry’s lips.

Raif was thorough in his preparation; before he had finished stretching Harry’s body to accommodate him, Harry was begging to be taken. The exquisite double pleasure of having his sweet spot stimulated with each impulse of Raif’s fingers, together with the feel of his cock rubbing against Lucius’ erection, was almost more than he could stand.

And then Raif gave in to Harry’s demands, knelt between Harry’s wide-spread thighs, and began to press himself into Harry’s body. He was larger than Lucius, and Harry quickly became glad that the older man had taken so much trouble to prepare him. The feeling of being stretched and filled bordered on the painful, but always remained just on the side of pleasure. Raif kept up a steady push until he was fully seated in Harry’s body, his balls tight against Harry’s arse. The he slowly withdrew and began to thrust: slow, even strokes that filled Harry completely and brushed over his sweet spot on every impulse. 

Beneath him, Lucius groaned as Harry’s cock rocked and thrust against his own erection, following the rhythm of Raif’s fucking.

One of Raif’s hands supported his weight, the other held Harry’s hip steady as he continued to thrust into the young wizard’s body, quickening the pace as he neared his climax. Harry and Lucius were neck and neck with him as the finish post came into sight, each one coming at almost the same time. Harry crying out his release in the warm crook of Lucius’ neck, as Lucius’ teeth closed on Harry’s shoulder, muffling his own cry. 

Raif stilled for a moment, and then he too cried out as he thrust one last time into Harry’s body, the heat of his ejaculation flooding Harry’s channel. Then he carefully eased himself free and collapsed to lie by Harry’s side, as Harry himself slid off Lucius’ body. A few moments later they were all snuggled together under the warm fur cover, Harry’s cheek pillowed on Lucius’ chest, Raif curled around his back.

Harry felt wonderful—thoroughly shagged out—but wonderful. He felt cherished, protected, surrounded by love, even as he was surrounded by the two men beside him.

He must have slept for a short while, for when he awoke, Lucius and Raif were sitting up in bed, one on either side of him, each with a glass of wine.

“A little fortification,” Raif said, passing Harry a glass. “Do you feel all right?” he added, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I feel fine,” Harry answered with a smile, which broadened into a grin as he added, “Actually, I feel fantastic, although a bit…ah, _tender_ in certain places.”

“Well, you can relax for a little while now, participate as much or as little as you wish to.” Raif eyes went beyond Harry to Lucius. 

And Harry understood that he was about to watch his lover being fucked by Raif. The glass trembled in his hand, and butterflies briefly fluttered in his stomach, but there was no feeling of jealousy; indeed most of his nerves were caused by the knowledge that he himself would have to fuck Lucius before the night was out. He resolved to study carefully what Raif did, and try to remember for when his own time came to enter Lucius. 

It was a joy to watch. The two men curled around one another, their mouths locked, their hands re-mapping each other’s body. Harry studied intently the way in which Raif opened and stretched the entrance to Lucius’ body: first one finger, then another, thrusting and parting to widen the opening, and then a third finger joined the other two, and Lucius thrust back his hips, as if silently begging for Raif to take him. 

Raif had positioned Lucius on his hands and knees, and now he withdrew his fingers and picked up the small bottle of oil in readiness to anoint his cock. Harry reached for the bottle and plucked it out of Raif’s hands. His eyes fixed on Raif’s ice-blue ones, Harry slowed removed the cork stopper and poured some of the oil into the palm of his hand, then he reached out and grasped Raif’s heavy cock, spreading the oil over the length of it. The flesh was warm and firm in Harry’s hand, and he took his time making sure the oil was evenly distributed along the full length. Raif’s eyes flickered shut, and he groaned quietly at Harry’s touch. Harry briefly palmed the flared glans one last time, and then, satisfied that Raif was adequately lubricated, he took his hand away, and watched as Raif pushed into Lucius’ tight channel.

The entrance seemed like a mouth around the girth of Raif’s cock, clinging and sucking at the column of flesh, seeming reluctant to release the rigid length when Raif withdrew. Lucius was gasping at each thrust into his body, garbled words that eventually became clear as Lucius’ voice rose. “Yes, oh, Raif, harder, yes.” Then the demands became louder still as Lucius neared his climax. But before he reached it, Raif sat back on his heels, pulling Lucius with him, exposing Lucius’ jerking cock to Harry.

Harry didn’t need to be asked twice. He dropped his head and sucked his lover’s cock into his mouth, relishing the familiar taste and texture. He briefly marvelled at Lucius’ restraint—Harry knew very well he himself would have come almost immediately under such an onslaught of stimulation. Even so, it was only a few minutes before he felt the swell of Lucius’ cock that heralded his imminent climax, and then Harry’s mouth and throat were filled with his lover’s come, as Lucius cried out, one hand buried in Harry’s hair, the other grasping the arm that Raif had flung about Lucius’ chest.

Harry slowly released the softening cock in his mouth. Lucius was still wrapped in Raif’s arms, their heads resting one against the other, eyes shut. It was a small private moment between the two of them that Harry didn’t resent in the slightest.

Soon, however, Lucius’ eyes opened, and he looked at Harry and smiled. Harry smiled back. “Good?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucius merely nodded, before slowly raising himself off Raif’s spent cock. Between the two of them, Lucius and Harry cleaned Raif’s body and then tucked the exhausted man under the covers. They bracketed him, each reaching out an arm to hold the half-asleep man, their fingers joining over Raif’s chest.

When Harry next woke, the fire in the hearth had died down to a few smouldering logs. Raif and Lucius were still asleep, and Harry crept carefully from the bed and went to put more wood on the fire, before casting his eyes around for a door he hoped would lead to a bathroom of some sort. But the only door from the room was the one that led to the antechamber where they had spoken their vows. In increasing need, Harry decided to see if a farther door led on from the small chamber.

He felt it as soon as he set foot on the stone floor of the anteroom: a thrumming beneath his bare feet that felt like the rumble of some great slumbering beast. But this was no beast. Harry could feel the power welling up from the ground, power that seeped through the soles of his feet and travelled up his body like a wave. He stood stock-still, wondering if he should move, but it was as if he were anchored to the spot. He felt no threat from the power beneath his feet, and only wondered at its source.

Arms wrapped around him, and Harry relaxed back into Raif’s embrace.

“You feel it?” 

It was more statement than question, but Harry answered anyway, “Yes,” he whispered. “What is it, Raif?”

“You’ve heard of the old straight tracks? Of ley lines?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, much as Muggle roads differ in size—some little more than tracks, others wide—so ley lines differ in size. Under this room lies a crossing place of two of the largest ley lines in Britain.”

“We’re back in England?” Harry asked, surprised, tilting back his head to look up at Raif.

The older man nodded. “Indeed. Well, where the lines cross, great power results. Here perhaps more than anywhere, such is the size of the two crossing lines.”

“I thought I felt something before, when you called on the power to witness the ceremony, but then it was just like...like a single heartbeat, now it’s constant? Can I feel it better because of the power you gifted us with?”

“Yes,” Raif agreed. “Our coupling completed the transfer of power; you will find that you are more sensitive to a number of things.”

“So there is an altar, then. It is beneath our feet,” Harry said with conviction. “I thought you said the ceremony wasn’t religious?”

“It isn’t. Not as such. The power from the ley lines is merely a witness to our joining.”

“So,” Harry went on slowly. “The ceremony is of the old magic?”

This time Raif corrected him. “No, Harry. Ley lines are far older…the magic of the earth itself. Those of the old magic utilised the power in the ley lines when they built their altars and monuments, but the magic contained in the lines is as old as the earth.”

“Here you are,” a voice said from behind them. “I woke up alone,” Lucius continued with a mock grumble. He took a step into the room…and stopped short. “Merlin!” he exclaimed.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Harry said. “Raif say’s that there are two ley lines beneath the room, it’s their power we can feel.” Harry’s bladder suddenly reminded him of the reason he had entered the room in the first place. “Ah, Raif, can I use your loo?”

Raif released him. “Of course. My apologies, I should have revealed the door before you came. Come.” He led the way back into the main room and, with a pass of his hand, a door appeared in the wall next to the door to the antechamber.

“You can hurry up in there,” Lucius called after Harry’s rapidly retreating figure. “I want to go too.”

Ten minutes later, all needs relieved, they were back in bed. Raif had poured them all a draft of sweet-smelling, white wine that tasted almost thick on Harry’s tongue.

“It’s a restorative of sorts,” Raif explained on catching sight of Harry’s dubious expression. “We have to complete the ceremony before daybreak, and we still have half of it to go. I think we may well have need of the wine’s properties to keep our energy levels up.”

Harry thought so too. He was already feeling the effects of the previous bouts of sex, and the hardest part, for him, was yet to come…making love to Lucius. He so wanted it to be good for his lover, not wanting to cause Lucius any pain through his inexperience. Lucius making love to him would be no hardship at all, although Harry wondered what part Raif would play in the coupling.

Raif held him so Harry lay in the older man’s arms as Raif lay propped against the wooden headboard on a pile of pillows, Harry’s back to Raif’s chest. 

It had been a new, erotic experience for Harry, to have Lucius open him using his fingers. Feeling those long slim digits pressing against his prostate had sent Harry into raptures, causing his hips to buck up to increase the depth of penetration…much as he was doing now: his legs wrapped around Lucius’ waist as his lover plunged into him. Raif’s fingers exquisitely tortured Harry’s nipples into twin, burning peaks of pleasure. Then, as Lucius’ stokes quickened, Raif reached down and took Harry’s cock in his hand, using firm strokes in time to Lucius’ thrusts to bring Harry to a tumultuous climax.

Harry felt absolutely drained. It was as if he had been emptied and left hollow. And he was scared...scared that he simply didn’t have enough energy left to complete the ceremony and make love to Lucius. 

“Harry?” Raif’s worried tones brought Harry back from the brink of the slumber he had been about to succumb to. “Here, drink this and then you can sleep for a little while.”

A glass was pressed to his lips, and Harry managed to rouse himself enough to take several mouthfuls of the sweet wine. Then he let his body take over, and slipped into sleep.

He was woken in what seemed like only minutes later to Harry’s exhausted body.

“We have an hour until daybreak, Harry. I know you are tired, but we must complete the ceremony.”

Harry forced himself to open his eyes, took a deep breath, and mentally squared his shoulders. “I’m okay,” he said reassuringly to the two worried faces that regarded him. “You two shouldn’t be so damn good in bed,” he added with a faint smile.

There was a slight relaxation in the expressions on Raif’s and Lucius’ faces.

“Do you wish me to prepare Lucius for you...or will you do it yourself?” Raif asked.

Harry swallowed. “I...I’d like to do it. I watched what you did...and I’m pretty sure I know what to do.”

He sat up on his knees and took the small bottle of oil that Raif handed to him. Lucius rolled over onto his stomach and spread his legs.

It was a delectable sight, and Harry found his nerves lessening as he uncorked the bottle and anointed the first finger. Lucius was still loose from when Raif had fucked him, and Harry’s finger slipped easily into the velvet warmth. He quickly added a second digit, feeling the walls of the channel fluttering around his fingers as he reached for—and found—the small raised nub of nerves. 

Lucius let out a gasp, and Harry inserted a third finger, thrusting them like a cock into Lucius’ body, hitting his lover’s sweet spot on every impulse.

“Now,” Lucius gasped, drawing his knees up.

Harry’s cock was suddenly enveloped in Raif’s warm, oil-smeared hand.

“Just returning the favour,” Raif said with a smile, as he anointed Harry’s cock with the lubricant.

With one hand he guided Harry’s cock to Lucius’ entrance...and then Harry was pressing inside the heat of Lucius’ body, feeling the clinging walls of Lucius’ channel grip him as he slid his cock home.

It was exquisite, and Harry felt the weariness leave his body as he seated himself fully in his lover’s body. He gasped as his balls came to rest on the smooth, white skin of Lucius’ arse. Pausing, Harry allowed the feel of being deep in Lucius’ body flow through him, savouring the sensations in case he never got to do this again. For now he had entered Lucius, and realised how wonderful it felt to do so, Harry wondered if he could ever go back to always being the bottom in their relationship. He might not want to top very often, but he would definitely miss it if Lucius forbade him to do so again.

Lucius gave a squeeze of his inner muscles, recalling Harry to the here and now. “Move!” Lucius begged, pushing back onto Harry’s cock.

Harry obliged, withdrawing his cock until only the glans remained in Lucius’ body, then he pushed home once more, changing his angle slightly as he did so in an effort to thrust over Lucius’ sweet spot. He hit the target, a fact evidenced by the gasp that Lucius let out. And now Harry began to thrust in earnest, his strokes smooth and rhythmic. 

Lucius began to keen, his hips jerking, keeping tempo with Harry’s thrusts.

Raif knelt to one side of the fucking couple and reached his hand beneath Lucius’ body to stroke the blond man’s cock. 

Harry, sweat sheening his brow, felt the onrush of his orgasm. It hit him like a freight train, and his loud cry echoed around the stone walls, mingling with the cry his lover let out as he too came in Raif’s caressing hand.


	14. The End of All Things

  
Author's notes: .  


* * *

****

The End of All Things

When Harry awoke he was ensconced between the two sleeping figures of Lucius and Raif. Physically he was exhausted, but mentally his mind was whirling. The events of the previous night had been momentous: he was now bound to not one, but _two_ men. He slipped his hand from beneath the covers and regarded the twist of white gold that now adorned his finger.

It was hard to believe that a few words had achieved this woven metal. He had expected more of a ceremony, more…magic, he supposed. Instead it had been a simple exchange of vows. And yet this ring on his finger seemed to suggest that it had been far more than that.

“Penny for them?”

“I was just thinking,” Harry said slowly, his eyes still fixed on the band of gold. “That it was a far simpler ceremony than I’d thought it would be. I’d thought there would be more…I don’t know, magic? Instead it was…just words.”

“Ah,” Raif said, “but then you are underestimating the _power_ of words.”

Harry glanced now at Raif. “The power of words?”

“Indeed. Words have a power all of their own. _You_ may consider them just words…but the words themselves know they have been spoken.” Raif moved until he was propped up against the pillows, then he pulled Harry back to lie against his chest. 

Harry shifted until he was comfortable, and then he went on, “Well, I know that obviously there was more going on than just our vows.” He held up the ring. “This didn’t just happen because we said words to one another.”

“You believe there must have been some hidden magic?”

“Wasn’t there?”

Raif shook his head. “The only _magic_ there was the magic we created ourselves. We spoke binding words to one another—words we believed in. Do you intend to break your vows?”

“No!” Harry said vehemently. “Never. I meant what I said.”

“Then there is your power, your _magic_. Each of us spoke vows we have no intention of breaking.”

“And the ley lines?” Harry asked after a few moments contemplation.

“I concede: their power was indeed interwoven with the words we spoke.”

“So, there _was_ magic—the magic of the ley lines.”

“Well, not magic, so much as raw power. Their power bore witness to our promises. It will keep the memory of what was said, safe within it.”

“And if we break the vows?” 

“Intentionally? Then the power of the earth will stir…will endeavour to remind us of our obligations. Unintentionally? Well, we must all strive to do our best to keep our promises to one another, for together we are stronger. But everyone knows mistakes can be made…”

“The biggest one was thinking I could get any sleep with you two in my bed,” came a grumpy voice from beside them.

“Actually,” Raif said with a laugh, “it’s _my_ bed.”

“He’s always a misery guts in the morning until he’s had his coffee,” Harry commented, looking down at Lucius. “Oh,” he went on, his cheeks reddening, “but then you probably already knew that.”

“Indeed, which makes it all the more reprehensible that I have failed to provide some for our bed companion. Never mind,” Raif went on, sliding out from beneath Harry and getting out of bed. “That can soon be remedied. And what would you like, Harry?”

“Knowing him,” Lucius said from beneath the covers, “anything edible.”

“Actually, I’d really rather like a bath,” Harry contradicted him. “But after that some breakfast would be nice.”

“Then a bathe you shall have,” Raif said. “Come.”

Harry slipped out of bed and padded, unselfconsciously naked, after the equally nude figure of Raif. With a pass of his hand, Raif produced another door. To Harry’s surprise, it led outside.

He stepped out of the door into mid-morning sunshine, and found himself standing in a clearing in the middle of a forest. The sun beat down and birds sang loudly in the surrounding woods. In the centre of the clearing was a pool. Harry laughed. “I hope that water’s not as cold as I have a feeling it might be.”

“Cool perhaps, but refreshing.”

A flash of white sped past Harry and, with a graceful dive, Lucius immersed himself in the water, sending a cascade of water over Harry at the same time. 

“Often the best way,” Raif said with a grin, before leaping into the pool himself.

Harry faltered for just a moment, and then he too leapt into the water with a wild yell.

Actually, Raif had been right. Although the water was cool, it wasn’t _cold_ , and Harry was soon splashing happily, enjoying the tingle of cleansing water on his skin. 

They breakfasted, sitting on the short, rabbit-cropped grass beside the pool, and then Raif took them back to Durmstrang.

It seemed strange to be back in his rooms, Harry thought. So much had changed, and yet everything still seemed the same. He had left Durmstrang a single man, and returned bound to the two men by his side. Somehow he had expected things to be different, but the clock still ticked on the mantelpiece, a fire still crackled in the grate, his books and his scrolls still littered his desk, and around him the school was still sunk in its mid-holiday slumber. 

He emerged from his reverie to discover Raif was taking his leave of them. And suddenly he didn’t want the dark-haired man to go. Raif had become a part of his life, his partner, his lover…and it was too soon after their binding. 

Harry glanced at Lucius, and found that his gaze was being returned: without words Harry knew that Lucius was thinking the same thing. He reached out and caught hold of Raif’s sleeve. “Please, don’t go.”

“Stay,” Lucius said at the same moment.

Raif looked from one to the other. “I have to admit,” he said slowly, “that my heart is begging me to stay, but my head is telling me to go. You know I did not intend to intrude into your relationship.”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry said with feeling. “You’re not intruding.”

“You are part of our relationship,” Lucius added. “Whatever you might have intended, you cannot just walk away from us.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “You can’t. We both want you to stay,” he pleaded, seeing the indecision in Raif’s eyes.

Raif’s face lit up with a grin of pure pleasure, and the ice-blue eyes twinkled. “Then I will stay.”

They returned to bed, slumbering the day away in a tangle of limbs, each somehow subconsciously maintaining contact with the other two, even in the depths of sleep. Towards evening they awoke, and Raif made love to Harry whilst Lucius held the young wizard in his arms.

 

****

****

The following evening they prepared to perform the ceremony from the Elladan—the joining of the three moons.

“The ceremony itself will stir the old magic, but it can’t be helped,” Raif explained, his voice troubled. “We know the McClouds will definitely use the books to gain power, and as far as I can see, this is the only way we have at least a hope of stopping them.”

“Are we going back to your home?” Harry asked

Raif shook his head. “No. The ceremony is of the old magic, and as such you will get your wish, Harry.”

“My wish?”

“More than just a _few words_. On the few occasions when a magical ceremony was called for, then it was done with all the trappings. There are things you and Lucius need to know before we begin the ceremony...words you need to speak, actions that need to be taken. And I will need your pendant, Harry.”

Harry went and retrieved the pendant from his rooms and brought it to Raif. “Here.” He proffered the jewellery to Raif.

“We will start the ceremony by a ritual splitting of the pendant. Each of us will hold one of the pieces. You will have the piece containing the stone representing the new moon, Lucius the full moon, and I will take the piece containing the waning moon.”

“Shouldn’t you have the full moon?” Harry asked. “Isn’t that the most powerful bit?”

Raif shook his head. “The phases are equally powerful, but I feel they fit better this way. The new, young moon for you, the full moon in all its splendour for Lucius...”

“Splendour?” Lucius interrupted with a smug grin. “Then there was really no question that it should be me who holds the full moon.”

Harry laughed at him. “I know, we could put a bag over your head and you could be the total eclipse,” he said cheekily.

“And I, being the eldest,” Raif went on, ignoring the banter between his two lovers, “will hold the dying moon. Having split the pedant, and gifted its parts, we then bring the pieces back together for the reuniting, the joining—the creation of the triumvirate. The three men of power. Having completed the ritual, our powers should be combined, become one force. That, combined with the power in the book, should be enough to counteract anything the McClouds can come up with.”

Harry looked worried. “But will we be able to control it?” he asked hesitantly. “You have so much power...I’d hate to cast a _Leviocorpus_ and send someone into orbit.”

“There will be no chance of that. Your wizard spells will not work whilst you hold my full power in your hands...”

“What?”

“Won’t work?”

Harry and Lucius exclaimed together. 

“What do you mean?” Lucius demanded.

“Exactly what I said,” Raif said gently. “My power will not share your body with any other force.”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Harry said, pointing to a glass on the table. The glass rose a few inches into the air, before Harry gently lowered it back to the table. “See, you already gave us some of your power and I can still do spells.”

“ _Some_ , being the operative word,” Raif explained. “When you are in possession of all my power, there will not be room inside you for anything else. Don’t worry,” he went on reassuringly. “For a start I will be controlling my power through you, so there will be no chance of it getting out of hand...”

“Can you do that?” Lucius asked sceptically.

Raif turned to him. “Do you think I would have suggested this course of action if I thought I couldn’t?”

Lucius regarded him, then shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “But I still get the feeling there is something not right about all this. I know you said you will be a sleeping partner, and that your kin will not trace what you are doing if you work through us, but I still don’t see how you can hide something like this from them.”

“Trust me,” Raif said. “You have to believe that I know what I am doing...and that what I am doing is for the best. It’s the only way I can see that we can stop the McClouds.”

“All right,” Lucius said reluctantly.

“Going back to your own powers...as soon as we have defeated the McClouds...”

“ _If_ we defeat them,” Harry interjected.

“If we don’t, then it won’t matter what happens,” Raif snapped, as close to losing his cool as Harry had ever seen. The older man took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry closed the distance between them, put his arms around Raif, and laid his head on the man’s chest. “It’s okay. We know you are doing the best you can...but we’re just worried, and scared...for us and for you.”

Raif smoothed a hand over Harry’s hair. “There is no need to be scared, little one. We will succeed, I’m sure of it.”

Lucius joined them, his arms going around them both, and for a while they stood, silently holding one another, until Raif broke apart from them. “We must get on,” he said. “There is much we need to do.”

Raif spent the next hour going through the words and movements they needed to know for the ceremony. Harry had been nervous that he wouldn’t be able to remember his speeches, but to his relief he found that actually most of what he had to say was in response to Raif’s words...and the older man seemed to know his part very thoroughly.

Once again, Raif transfigured their clothing into robes. Harry wore white, Lucius, dark blue, and Raif’s own clothing once again became a black robe. “One more thing,” Raif said suddenly. “Once we have begun the ceremony, it is important that you do not attempt any magic, even by accident.” Raif turned to Harry. “I know you have a talent for wandless magic, Harry, but you must restrain yourself from even the most insignificant spell; the slightest thing could upset the ritual, and the result of that could be as catastrophic as anything the McClouds might come up with. Do you both understand?”

Harry and Lucius nodded earnestly.

“I will take you one at a time,” Raif continued. “Lucius, you first.”

“Why can’t you take us together,” Harry asked. “Like you did before?”

“Because before I was taking you to my home...it pulls me with as much force as I push to be there.”

Harry thought about that for a moment, and then nodded. “I see; it takes you less effort to get there.”

“Almost none at all.”

“But anywhere else and you need more power?”

“Exactly. So, Lucius? Are you ready?”

Lucius nodded and went into Raif’s arms. A second later, and Harry was left staring at a bare patch of carpet. Only a few moments went past before Raif returned. Harry stepped into his lover’s arms and dark fell around him.

When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself in the centre of a stone circle under a darkening sky. Stars were winking into existence in the great bowl of the sky, and to Harry they seemed somehow closer, more intense. Almost as if they were leaning closer to the earth to more easily observe what was happening there.

Inside the circle, a triangle had been drawn on the short grass. At the centre of both circle and triangle was a huge, oblong stone altar. Harry shivered under his robe, and goose pimples rose up on his skin. He couldn’t say what it was, but there was something here in this place that unnerved him. As the light faded even more, Harry became aware that he could still see clearly, even though there was no obvious source of illumination. It was then that he noticed that the stones around them were glowing, sending out an eerie blue light that faintly illuminated the interior of the circle. Before he could become thoroughly unnerved, however, Raif stepped up to the altar stone and began reciting the words of the ceremony from the Elladan.

The pendant was split, with words spoken as each piece was detached, and each man took the piece of the pendant they were to be associated with and moved to stand on a point of the triangle. 

“The moon has been split asunder,” Raif intoned, “and now we rejoin the pieces, at the same time we too shall be joined: Three phases of the moon, one to each, three men shall unite their power. Harry, the gift of the new moon shall be yours, will you receive the gift?”

“I receive the gift and take it unto me.” Harry held up his piece of pendant.

“Lucius, the gift of the full moon shall be yours, will you receive the gift?”

Now Lucius raised his bit of the pendant. “I receive the gift and take it unto me,” he responded.

“To myself I take the gift of the old moon. I receive it and take it unto me.” Raif’s part of the pendant joined the other two held out before the man that held it. “In accord and agreement this then shall be: that we three shall join...”

“I don’t think so,” came a voice from the darkness outside the stones. Gaius McCloud, with Lyra at his side, stepped into the circle. “Did you really think I would allow you to arm yourselves against me?” he went on. “You are not the only one, Raif Yed Prior, who can feel a stirring in the old magic.” Until that point, Gaius’ gaze had encompassed all of them, now his attention became fixed on Raif. “You should not be here,” he stated baldly. “Your kind should not be meddling in the affairs of humans.”

Raif drew himself up to his full height, and the power rolled off him like a thunder cloud. The light seemed to draw out from the stones around them, coalescing around Raif’s body like a blue shroud.

“You dare not raise your hand against me so openly,” Gaius said hurriedly, but Harry noticed there was a note of doubt in his voice.

“Do not dare to presume to tell me what I can or cannot do,” Raif ordered. His voice seemed deeper and it was almost as if it came from everywhere.

“Entrechamenet!” Gaius flung the word at Raif, pointing a finger as if to direct its force. A bolt of light shot from the end of the digit and raced towards Raif. 

It bounced harmlessly off the shield of blue around Raif. 

“So,” Gaius said slowly, “you protect yourself...a pity—for you—that you did not think to protect your companions.”

Harry gasped as an arm tightened around his neck and a knife point was jabbed into his neck. “One move,” Lyra threatened from behind him. “Believe me, I don’t need much of an excuse,” she continued. Whilst their attention had been fixed on Gaius, Lyra had obviously crept around behind Harry under cover of the darkness outside the stones.

“You will release him,” Raif commanded.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Gaius said complacently. “You see, I have no intention of allowing you to wreck my plans. And I know very well that, despite what you say, you dare not interfere here more than you already have. Why else would you be attempting this ceremony? If not to hide your involvement from eyes you would rather did not see? One move,” he suddenly snapped, his eyes flicking to Lucius, who had taken a step towards him, a snarl on his face, “and your catamite gets it.”

“How can you possibly hope to win?” Lucius growled. “You know very well that Raif is so much more powerful than anything you can hope to wield, even with the two books.”

“Ah, but that was before he spilt his power.” Gaius smiled horribly at the expression on Lucius’ face. “He didn’t tell you, did he? Of course, he was complacent enough to believe that he would be able to complete his plans...which of course would restore his power to him.” His eyes went back to Raif. “Sadly, for you, that was not the case. Oh, I know that he is still very powerful...but not indefatigable. But I trust it won’t come to that, after all, the boy’s loss would be hard for you both to bear, wouldn’t it?”

Harry winced as the tip of Lyra’s knife dug deeper into his neck.

“Now, shall we be reasonable? The Elladan and the pendant, if you please.”

Before Raif had time to respond, there was a sudden flurry of movement from behind Harry, and the arm around his neck fell away, as did the knife. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lyra’s lifeless body crumple to the ground. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Selena hissed, “do something!”

But she had not bargained for the fact that Harry was unable to use his magic. For a split second Harry hesitated…and that was all the time Gaius needed. With a scream of rage, he flung another bolt of lightening at Raif. This time it penetrated nearly as far as its target before being once more repulsed by the blue light, and Raif staggered with the force of it. 

Before Raif had time to retaliate, Gaius had dodged behind one of the huge upright stones. 

Now Harry decided to move, but before he had taken two steps, Raif had bellowed an order at he and Lucius. “Get out! Get out of the circle NOW!”

The power of suggestion was so strong behind the words, that Harry found himself by Lucius’ side, outside the ring of stones, without being aware that he had moved to obey.

Gaius chanced another shot at Raif whilst the Tuatha was focused on Harry and Lucius…this time the bolt went home and Raif dropped to his knees. Gaius gave a triumphant cry and advanced into the circle of stones. But he had been too sure of his power, and Raif surged to his feet, a hand held out before him.

“Gaius, stop,” Raif ordered. “Do not do this. You must know what trouble will be wrought if you continue with this madness.”

“Fearful of a rival, Yed Prior?” Gaius sneered. “Or are you resorting to begging because you know you cannot win?” Again he sent a bolt of light at Raif…once more it pushed far into the shield before it was halted. 

From where he stood, Harry could see the strain on Raif’s face. “Why doesn’t he do something?” he cried at Lucius.

Lucius shook his head, his eyes intent on the two figures in the stone circle. “Because as soon as he does, he knows he will be taken back to the land where his kin dwell…and we shall be left defenceless.”

“Why aren’t you helping him?” Selena demanded desperately.

“I’m going to,” Harry said determinedly. He rushed towards the stones…only to be repulsed by some sort of invisible force field. He screamed in frustration, as Lucius hauled him back. 

“You cannot interfere,” Lucius reminded him. “We have commenced the ritual, we cannot do any magic.”

“But we can’t just stand here.”

“We have no choice,” Lucius said resignedly. “The barrier will not drop until Raif removes it. He is trying to contain the old magic within the bounds of the circle.”

Gaius was now trying another form of attack. Light was beginning to arc between the tops of the upright stones; it crackled and fizzed in the darkness. Around him, Harry could feel the build-up of enormous power; it scented the air with a tang of ozone and pressed against his body until his head throbbed with it. Desperately, he tried to think of something, _anything_ that he could do to help Raif. But before he could come up with an idea, there was a shocking noise, as if the very night had split into two; a rush of wind tore past Harry, buffeting him to the ground. From his streaming eyes, Harry watched as the light that has been ringing the stones now tore into the centre of the circle…straight into Raif’s body.

But Gaius’ cry of victory was cut short as the light continued through Raif’s form and straight into Gaius’ body. His eyes went wide with shock and then he simply exploded. It was as if the light had filled him beyond his capacity to hold it, and then burst his body apart.

But it wasn’t Gaius whom Harry was concerned with. It was Raif. The man lay unmoving on the ground.

“His power,” Harry said, staggering to his feet and charging towards the stones.

“What?” Lucius demanded.

Having seen no need, Raif had not instructed Harry on how to tap into the power of the Tuatha that now resided in his body. But it seemed to be a purely instinctual thing, for Harry—feeling deep within himself—summoned up the energy to push through the barrier that was keeping him from Raif, and rushed to the man’s side.

“Raif,” Harry called urgently, dropping to his knees by Raif’s supine figure. On the other side of Raif’s body, Lucius knelt down in the dew-sodden grass.

Raif’s eyes opened, and a small smile creased the man’s lips. “Take care…of one another,” he whispered. And then the broad chest ceased to rise and fall, and the light went out in the ice-blue eyes.

“No,” Harry cried. “No, you can’t die…you can’t leave us.”

Opposite Harry, Lucius sobbed openly, the tears coursing down his cheeks. “My love,” he murmured. “My love.”

“This can’t be,” Harry went on, in complete denial of Raif’s death. “He’s a Tuatha, he’s immortal, he can’t die. Raif!” he screamed, “Raif, wake up.”

“He will not wake again in your world,” said a voice from behind Harry.

He whipped around, and found himself face to face with two figures. They were tall, dressed in the garb of warriors, and they seemed to glow with a pale, pearly light.

“We have come for our kin,” the older one of the two men continued. 

“Your, your _kin_?” Harry asked, bemused.

“Raif is our brother,” the other man went on. “The youngest of us. I am Bran.” He turned to the older man. “And this is our eldest brother, Finn.”

The two men advanced towards Raif’s body. “We have come to take our brother home.”

“But how can he be dead?” Harry cried, his eyes going back to Raif’s still form.

“When he split his power with you, he made himself vulnerable to death,” Finn explained.

“You knew he’d done that?” Harry asked.

Bran nodded. “We have been aware of events for some time now.”

“But why didn’t you stop him?” Harry demanded. “If you knew there was a chance he might die?”

“The Tuatha rarely interfere in the doings of men,” Finn began, “but in this case the threat to your world—and ours—was too great to stand back and let things take their course. It was decided that we should permit Raif’s involvement. He knew the risks,” he added gently.

“He knew he was going to die, didn’t he?” Harry asked in a near whisper.

It was Bran who replied. “He knew it was one possible outcome of this night.”

“It is time,” Finn said. “We must go.”

“No, oh no,” Lucius cried. “Please, is there nothing you can do?”

“I am afraid the ability to bring the dead back to life is beyond even us,” Finn said sadly. “I know you loved our brother very much,” he went on, “and he you—you brought him great joy. But it is time to say goodbye to him.” Finn’s gaze went to Harry. “You and Harry must love and support each other in this sad time.”

Finn and Bran closed on Raif’s body and gently lifted it onto a byre they produced. Lucius clutched at Raif’s hand, seeming unable to let his long-time lover go. In one last farewell, he bent and dropped a kiss on the cooling lips, then he turned away with a cry of anguish. Harry also bent to place one last kiss on Raif’s mouth, and then he stood back, the tears running freely down his face, as Finn and Bran, carrying Raif’s byre, winked out of existence.

Lucius stood, a slim figure in the light from the moon that had risen, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed uncontrollably. Harry went to him and held him tightly, trying to comfort his lover, but feeling at the same time as if he would never be happy again and that there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could say that would take away the pain.

“Come,” came a calm voice from behind them. “It does not do to linger in this place.”

Harry lifted his tear-drenched face from Lucius’ chest, to find Raoul Aristide, Selena at his side.

“Can you Apparate?” Aristide asked.

Harry nodded numbly. “I think so—it depends how far we are from school.”

“About one hundred and fifty miles. Can you do it?”

“We’ll go together,” Harry said, keeping a firm grip on Lucius. 

“Then we will meet you there.” Aristide and Selena both morphed into bats that flittered about the stone circle, obviously waiting until Harry and Lucius had left.

“Lucius?” Harry said quietly, “we must go back to school. Can you help me Apparate? We’ll go together.”

Lucius lifted his face and stared at Harry. “But Raif…” his voice cracked on Raif’s name. Lucius took a deep breath. “He said we weren’t to do any magic.”

“I don’t think it matters now,” Harry said sadly. “There is nothing here anymore.” He meant that there was no feeling of power in the air; it had dissipated in the blaze of light that had killed both Raif and Gaius. Even the power he had briefly felt within himself had gone, dying along with the man who had gifted it to him.

Finally Lucius nodded. “All right, let us go.” 

Holding each other tightly, Harry and Lucius Apparated. Following swiftly after them, two bats flew into the night.

The stone circle was left deserted, apart from the remains of Gaius and Lyra McCloud. 

Close by, a wolf howled. Its call was answered by several others.

 

****

****

It was a sad group that assembled at Durmstrang. Harry and Lucius sat, shocked and shaken, on the sofa in Lucius’ rooms, whilst Raoul poured them both a large brandy and forced them to drink it.

Selena, her own eyes wet with tears, sat across from them, a small, slight figure, dressed in her habitual black. 

Harry roused himself enough to ask, “Why…how did you come to be there?”

“I like to keep a close eye on my property,” Aristide explained. “I would have been with you sooner, but unfortunately I was delayed by business.”

“The books!” Lucius exclaimed suddenly.

“Gone,” the vampire reassured him. “The two that Gaius was carrying were obliterated along with him…and the Elladan was destroyed when Raif was hit. Thankfully Raif’s power was sufficient to contain the power within the circle.”

“But not enough to save him,” Lucius said bitterly. “I knew we should never have agreed to him splitting his power.”

“We couldn’t know what effect it would have, Lucius,” Harry said gently.

Aristide seated himself. “It was a sacrifice Raif was prepared to make.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Lucius whispered. “All my life he has been by my side…even when we were estranged, even then I knew that all I needed to do was call and he would come to me.” Tears began to run down his cheeks again. “And now…now I can _scream_ his name and he will never come to me again.” He broke down, sobbing as if his heart were breaking.

Harry gathered his lover into his arms and held him tight, rocking the crying man and running a hand soothingly through Lucius’ hair. His own tears went unheeded; it was Lucius who had lost the man he had loved for most of his life, Harry’s own pain at Raif’s loss was nothing by comparison.

Raoul regarded them with sympathy. “Raif will be missed by many, but most of all, I think, by you two. He loved you both very much, you know. I think he would wish that you find comfort with one another. Do not spend overlong mourning him—he would not wish you to be unhappy.”

Harry nodded, his lips pressed to Lucius’ hair, his eyes closed. “I’ll do what I can,” he said quietly.

Aristide got to his feet. “You must be strong for each other.” He dropped a hand briefly onto Harry’s shoulder. “We must go, but remember, you and Lucius are always welcome in our home, Harry.”

Harry looked up at the vampire. “Thanks,” he said, “for everything.” His gaze went to Selena. “And thank you, Selena.”

Selena nodded, and managed a small, watery smile. “I just wish,” she began, and then shook her head and turned away.

 

****

One Year Later

In the light of day the stone circle looked just that: a circle of weathered grey uprights, patched here and there with grey and yellow lichen, drowsing in the summer’s afternoon sunshine.

There was no sign of the devastation that had taken place that fateful night, a year ago. The place was tranquil. Birds sang in the near-by trees, butterflies danced in the long grass that spread between the stones, and overhead puffs of white cloud drifted lazily in a startlingly blue sky. The heat from the blazing sun beat down making the very air pulse with warmth.

But to Harry and Lucius, stepping slowly between the stones, the place would always be cold—cold and full of death. Forever, in their minds, the dead body of Raif would lie on the grass, still and bereft of the force that had so filled their lover in life.

Even a year later Harry would wake, his eyes wet with tears…and Lucius would often call out to Raif in his sleep.

But less often. They were starting to move on, to look forward rather than look back. Raif’s death had knocked them to their knees, but now, a year later, they had struggled to their feet and were, hand in hand, tentatively stepping out once more on the road that led to the future—whatever that future may hold for them.

Lucius bent and placed the small posy of wild flowers on the spot where Raif’s body had lain. The he straightened and turned to Harry. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Harry looked puzzled. “What for?” he asked.

“For this last year…I’m not sure…I don’t know that I….if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” Harry said with feeling.

At that Lucius reached out to Harry and pulled him close, his arms tight around the young wizard. Harry returned the embrace and for long moments they simply stood there, holding one another, until Lucius finally pulled away.

“Come on,” he said. “If we don’t want to miss our Floo connection we’d better hurry up…we wouldn’t want to be late for supper at the Burrow.”

“Meet you back at school?”

Lucius reached for Harry again. “Let’s sidealong.”

Harry went back into his lover’s arms…and moments later the stone circle was empty once more.

 

****

End

**A.N.** Many thanks to all my readers, especially those of you who not only read but reviewed as well! And thanks once again to my beloved beta, RaeWhit - love you, girl! 


End file.
